The Guest Editor
by Atomix330
Summary: Ten years after she was abandoned by Andrea in Paris, Miranda Priestly still has never missed a deadline in nearly 30 years as Editor-in-Chief of Runway Magazine. That is until her second assistant literally gives her a heart attack. The September issue is at risk and Nigel has to "call an old friend..."
1. Chapter One

**The Guest Editor – Chapter One**

 _A/N: This is new for me…it takes place in the DWP-universe, in about 2014/5..._

* * *

Miranda Priestly was not having a good day. No, Miranda Priestly was having a terrible day, one of the worst in decades as Editor-in-Chief at Runway Magazine.

Her idiot of a second assistant had forgotten her coffee, managed to stain her scarf with a casserole of all things and to top it all, had lost The Book. All this when she was merely days from celebrating 30 years at the helm of Elias-Clarke's flagship publication.

She was currently berating said assistant in her office. She would fire the poor thing eventually but she wanted the satisfaction of destroying the imbecile stood in front of her.

Then she felt a twinge in her chest. She went to the door to shout at her first assistant to get her some antacids before turning for a final time to put her second assistant out of her misery.

"You're fired. That's all."

"Yes Miranda."

"Eleanor, those antacids please!"

"Yes, Miranda!" Eleanor, the long suffering replacement Emily replied.

Eleanor entered Miranda's office to find her slumped on the floor. After yelling for help, she grabbed the nearest phone to dial 911.

"Eleanor," Miranda called weakly from the carpet. "Call Nigel, tell him to call the number in the envelope in the bottom drawer of my desk. Now its Friday, I want the person he calls to be in my chair first thing on Monday morning. He is not to discuss this with anybody. Oh and please get another competent assistant. The last one gave me a heart attack…" Miranda trailed off chuckling weakly.

"Miranda!?" Emily Charlton, now art director, barrelled into the office.

"Miranda?" Eleanor panicked as Miranda slipped into unconsciousness."

" _Ma'am!? Ma'am? Are you still there?"_ came the voice from the phone.

"Yes I need an ambulance for Miranda Priestly, she's had a heart attack."

" _Is she still conscious?"_

"No."

" _Is she still breathing?"_ asked the emergency handler.

"I think so," Eleanor replied shakily.

" _An ambulance is on its way Ma'am. Please stay on the line until they get here."_

"Thank you." Emily started to dig around Miranda's desk until she found an envelope with Nigel's name on it marked "If I get hit by a bus, you know what to do."

She then called Nigel, now Editor at Men's Runway.

* * *

"Miranda Priestly's office calling, Sir."

"Thank you Olivia, put her through please." Today was a good day to be Nigel Kipling. He was doing a job he loved, for a woman he worshiped and his work was meeting its deadlines perfectly. He put his office phone on speaker. "Miranda? To what to I owe the pleasure."

" _Nigel, its Emily. Take me off speakerphone."_

"Emily, what's going on?" he asked, raising the handset to his ear.

" _You need to get up here now! Miranda has had a heart attack. She's left instructions. The ambulance is on its way….Nigel? Nigel are you still there?"_

"Ye-Yeah." He snapped out of the shock that had gripped him.

" _She's left instructions. Get up here now."_

"I'll be straight up." He hung up, grabbed his jacket from the office closet and called out to his assistant. "Cancel everything for the rest of the day. I'm on my cell if you need me but only if anything urgent comes up."

"Yes, Sir," replied Olivia who was already moving to the phone.

"Hold the fort."

* * *

By the time Nigel had hurried to the lobby to clear the lifts for the paramedics, they had already arrived. He put them in a lift with their stretcher and took the next one. By the time he emerged in the Runway reception area, Miranda was already strapped to a board and being carried out of her office. Emily was hot on their heels.

"I'm going to go with Miranda to the Emergency Room. I'll call if I have any news. Eleanor is back at her desk. The instructions for you are on her desk. You'll need to cancel everything and we need a new second assistant, again. She told me to tell you not to discuss those with anybody. Good luck."

"And you. Call me the second something changes," he called after her as Emily disappeared into the lift.

He then went to open the envelope addressed to him marked "If I get hit by a bus."

 _Dear Nigel,_ he read

 _If I'm hit by a bus, I'll probably be in hospital for quite some time. It means Runway will be left without an editor. I'd let you take charge if you weren't so busy with Men's Runway but we know how important deadlines are so rest assured, you are not to allow Jacqueline Follet to sit in my chair. Emily isn't suited to editorial work._

 _The person whose number I will write on the bottom of this page is. She's an old friend of ours who should now possess the necessary talent. You only need to Google her to find that she has the experience. If necessary, I want her to guest edit in my absence. If she refuses, then appeal to her heart or something similarly sentimental. If she still refuses, tell her I'll black list her once I get out of hospital and that she will never work in media again. Her boss owes me a few favours which you can call in. I think we both know by now who I'm talking about._

 _Don't tell Emily what you are doing. She'll only try to stop you. We both know this is the right decision. That's all._

 _M_

 _Call her:_ and a telephone number.

Nigel picked up the phone and dialled. "Please pick up!" he muttered as he collapsed into the nearest chair, removed his glasses and mopped his brow with a handkerchief.

" _You've reached Andy Sachs, I can't come to the phone right now. I'm probably asleep or working or my phone is switched off or I'm on the subway or I've actually lost it. Anyway, you know what to do, leave your message after the tone. BEEEEEEEP!"_

"Six, it's Nigel Kipling from Runway. We need to talk. Call me on this number as soon as you get this." Then he pulled out his cell phone and texted the same thing to the number in the envelope.

Nigel sat and thought for a moment before he got a text alert.

 _Miranda in ER – E_

 _How is she?_ He replied.

 _Still unconscious. They need to run some tests. I'll call you if I have any more news. – E_

 _Where, is Miranda's second assistant?_

 _Miranda fired her just before she collapsed. Get HR to find you another one. – E_

So the next call Nigel made was to Elias-Clarke's HR department…where he was put on hold. In frustration he called his own assistant.

"Olivia, its Nigel. Can you come up to Miranda Priestley's office? I need some help?"

" _What's going on? I heard a rumour that Miranda was taken to hospital."_

"Already? Jesus. Get over here will you. Emily Charlton is with her at the hospital and she fired the other assistant. I need somebody to man the phone whilst I get things sorted here."

" _Right away."_

"Thank you. I need to call the Twins if Emily hasn't done so already.

" _I'll be there as soon as I can."_

Miranda's office phone had still not rung and Nigel still hadn't received a text back from her.

Fortunately, contacting the Twins was easy enough. Cassidy was with Caroline at home and they would be making their way to the hospital as soon as was humanly possible.

Andy still hadn't responded. So he tried again.

No response.

To satisfy his curiosity whilst he waited. He Googled "Andrea Sachs" on his phone and was astounded.

Six now had her own Wikipedia page.

" _Andrea 'Andy' Sachs (born November 12, 1982) is a section editor at the New York Times having previously written for a variety of publications including the New York Mirror and as a freelance journalist for Associated Press…in 2012 Sachs wrote for Reuters whilst working in Afghanistan for six months. She won a Peabody Award for her coverage of the Egyptian Uprising…Sachs first entered the media world as an assistant to veteran Runway editor Miranda Priestly in 2005 before resigning 8 months later…"_

"I didn't know," he muttered. "You've grown up Andy! I have to admit, Miranda's choice of temporary replacement doesn't sound so strange now.

Then his phone buzzed in his hand.

* * *

Andy Sachs looked at her phone as she climbed the stairs out of the subway to find a missed call alert labelled 'Miranda – Office'. Before she could get over the shock of seeing a number she had never expected to see again, her phone buzzed with a text, ostensibly from Nigel.

 _Nigel? How did you get my number? – AS_

 _Call me and I can explain? – N_

 _I can't. In a meeting. – AS_

 _Call me. Now. – N_

 _You're not the only one with deadlines. – AS_

 _We'll be done in 10 minutes. – AS_

 _It's urgent. – N_

* * *

Then Nigel played his trump card.

 _Miranda's in hospital. Heart attack. – N_

 _Miranda? – AS_

 _Miranda Priestley. - N_

 _I'm sorry to hear that. Will she be alright? – AS_

 _Emily's with her. You need to come into the office. – N_

Then the phone rang in his hand.

" _Nigel, Miranda might be in hospital but I haven't worked for her for nearly a decade. I moved on."_

"Can you just come into the office?"

" _I have a job."_

"Well I'm about to offer you a new one."

" _If you think I want to work for her again, then you might as well end the call now."_

"I'm not offering you a job for her. Miranda wants you to take her place whilst she is sick."

" _What?!"_

After a few seconds, Nigel broke the silence. "You still there?"

 _Can nobody else do it?"_ she asked weakly.

"We all have enough deadlines as it is."

" _Are you even still working for her? I thought you were at Men's Runway."_

"Technically no."

" _Is Emily still her assistant?"_

"No, she replaced me. She doesn't know that Miranda asked for you. Miranda wants to keep it that way."

" _Who is the first assistant?"_

"A girl called Eleanor. She's competent," b _ut nobody could have ever replaced you,_ he added as a

" _And the second assistant? The new me?"_

"There isn't one. Miranda fired her just before she collapsed."

" _Somebody finally broke La Priestley."_

"You sound as if you are gloating."

" _No, I'm truly sorry. I'm just amazed to be honest."_

"You're not the only one. You interested in the job?"

" _I'm going to have to talk to my boss."_

"No worries. He owes Miranda a few favours."

" _If I'm coming back, I don't want to be able to do my job and get out of there."_

"I didn't think convincing you would be this easy."

" _It's a career opportunity, and a promotion."_

"I thought I'd have to use Miranda's threat."

" _I guess she said she'd see me blacklisted if I refused to do as she asked. I'll make it easier for everybody. I'll come to edit Runway. I won't get blacklisted and nobody else gets fired for incompetence. Everyone's a winner."_

"One way of looking at it."

" _Listen, I'm a news journalist, not a fashion editor. Don't expect miracles."_

"I have to admit I was surprised at her suggestion. Then I Googled you. It's impressive Andy. You're an editor. She's only asking you to edit."

" _You know that the September issue is due out in three weeks…yes, I do still follow the magazine sometimes."_

"Yeah."

" _The most important issue of the year."_

"I'm aware."

" _Are you still sure you want to let me, a journalist with no head for fashion, edit it?"_

"I think I managed to instil something in you before you left last time. It was you or Jacqueline Follet."

" _That decides it then. I hate her as much as Miranda."_

"It's Friday. Do you want to start on Monday?"

" _Sounds great. I'll pop by after work this evening though, just to assess the situation."_

"Very well."

" _You know the very least that you can do know is call my boss and explain why I'm going AWOL for a month if not more."_

"I can do that. See you at seven this evening in the lobby?"

" _Make it seven thirty. I'll finish up what I've got left to do here."_

"See you then."

" _Call if Miranda's situation changes. That's all."_ The phone went dead in his hands. The abrupt end to the conversation and the manner of the conversation made Nigel stop short. It was like talking to a very young Miranda Priestley.

* * *

"Andy?" called Anthony Fleming, her boss at NYT from his glass cube of an office half an hour later.

"Did Nigel Kipling call you?" she asked, poking her head around the door.

"Yes, something about you guest editing Runway magazine for the next month and a bit?"

"Heart attacks ruin a weekend." Andy shrugged.

"The woman nearly died."

"She'll be back. She just wants me to fill in."

"I've got no problem with that."

"You mean you don't want to cross Miranda Priestley."

"Even in intensive care that woman has more insider knowledge and soft power than anybody else in the industry. She could sink our fashion and style columns if she so wished."

"A wise decision."

"Well make sure you've got all your open assignments up together before you leave."

"Everything's done. There are a couple of projects set for release next week but I can get somebody else to look at them."

"Well, make sure you come back."

"The Devil won't ensnare me yet. I've left them before."

"Ten years ago."

"Still. It could be fun."

"Andy, don't ever change that happy-go-lucky attitude of yours."

"You realise that one of the reasons I kept this attitude you are so fond of is because I quit as Miranda's assistant."

"Are you worried?"

"I spent six months in Afghanistan. Runway can't be worse than being shot at by the Taliban."

"Well, make sure you keep touch with base. I'm sure we don't want to see you become some sort of fashionista airhead who lives for clothes."

"You know me, I enjoy reality thank you very much."

"You know if you're going to do this, you've got to look the part."

"What's the issue?" Andy asked.

"Well, you can't edit Runway in a sweater and jeans."

"Why not?"

"It's a fashion magazine."

"Well this year in the Andy Sachs' Summer Collection for magazine editors, they are back in fashion…" she did a twirl on the spot. "Don't worry, I can do smart, elegant power dressing and if I run out of stuff in the closet I can always go shopping…or use their closet. You know they store all of the samples they receive…"

* * *

 _A/N: Do tell me what you think. I'm not sure if this will become MirAndy. If it does so, it will be slow and subtle, I didn't really get a femmeslash vibe from watching the film (I haven't read the book) although I can see it has been well done by some Fan Fiction writers. Anything is possible._


	2. Chapter Two

**The Guest Editor – Chapter Two**

 _A/N: Well there was a positive repsonse to the last chapter. Some people are concerned I'm not certain on producing MirAndy at the end of it, thats fair enough. With the current idea in my head, I can't see it happening very quickly, but things can change. Anything could happen. The benefit of Fan Fiction is that it is a blank canvas. If there is MirAndy then it won't be explicit._

 _Here is the next chapter, I hope you enjoy!_

* * *

 _Any news? – N_ Emily's phone lit up. She felt as if she had been waiting around for hours. They weren't letting her see Miranda.

 _No change they tell me._ She typed back.

 _Go home. – N_

 _Miranda needs me._ She replied indignantly.

 _The Twins are on their way. – N_

 _I'll come back to the office then._

 _All under control. Go home. Have a restful weekend. It will be all hands on desk on Monday morning. Just an early warning. – N_

 _What was in the envelope?_ She asked.

 _You'll see on Monday. – N_

 _Go. – N_

 _I'll go when I see the Twins._

 _See you on Monday. – N_

* * *

When Nigel was satisfied that there was no further response from Emily, he took the elevator down to the lobby to meet Andy. Once in the marble atrium, he went to the security desk to get Andy some new credentials – ID card, lanyard, network access key – to go with the company iPhone, credit card and MacBook he had had somebody purloin from HR after they said they'd send him a new assistant. Andy would be getting the use of a driver and blacked out Mercedes to get her between work and home during her tenure at Runway.

In the hours since Miranda's collapse, he'd had Elias-Clarke's press department do a background check on Andy. She was as clean as a whistle as far as they could tell. The innocent, doe-eyed girl who had walked into the office over a decade ago had simply got older and gained more experience – if you count being shot at by insurgents in Helmand as experience.

Now he just had to wait…

He didn't see her come in. He didn't see the small flash of awe on her face as she re-entered a building that she thought she would never have returned to in her working lifetime. He did see the steely look of determination that came down like shutters on a shop window at the end of the day. She did look dressed to kill.

She saw his mouth momentarily drop open.

"Do stop imitating a goldfish Nigel," she smirked. "I guess I've still got it," she twirled.

"You've grown Andy!"

"Grown up, yes. Not grown fat. I'll have you know, I'm still a four. It's called going for a jog in the morning."

"Hmmm…"

"Yes Nigel?"

"Let me see…Mulberry bag, Burberry coat, Chanel blazer but not the skirt. I don't recognise it."

"I bought it on ASOS – that British internet clothing store. I can't remember what it was called. The blazer I got in Paris. It was one of the pieces I didn't give to Emily. The shoes are Louboutins. I had to have one smart set for executive meetings."

"Shall we go up?"

"Don't I need some credentials? I did hand the last ones back in."

"It's all sorted."

"Lead the way then. I promise not to occupy the whole lift!"

"Don't mock her."

"Hmph. Tough room. I always found that particular tradition of letting Miranda have the lift to herself amusing. Understandable, but amusing."

"Come on Nigel, lighten up. You're free to have a laugh every once in a while!"

"Well they say that the thing that doesn't survive this place is a sense of humour."

"Do I have to turn up on Monday in jeans and a T-shirt in order to get a laugh?"

"Nah, we'd just see it as the Return of the Six."

"Huh?"

"You've never seen Star Wars?"

"Nope."

"And they say I have no knowledge of anything beyond fashion…"

The elevator dinged open and Andy found herself looking into the overly familiar reception area of _Runway_ America. The crisp almost clinical cleanliness of the empty office made her heart miss a beat. She audibly gulped.

"Six?"

"Yeah," she sighed, "this is really happening isn't it."

"It will be great."

"Yeah…listen, I'm as surprised as you are that this is happening. You know, I don't even know why I'm here…"

"You're here because Miranda believes in you."

"You think? Part of me thinks…well…I don't know…"

"Listen, she specifically requested you. I can show you the letter."

"But-"

"Did you learn nothing all that time ago? Don't question Miranda Priestley."

"Well, Miranda isn't here and I'm asking you Nigel," Andy's tone darkened. "I don't want to put my career at risk here. It took me years to build myself up to where I am at the _Times_. You know, in my first interview at the _Mirror_ , the editor found that my working at _Runway_ to be ridiculous. Yes, I could get any job in media with her recommendation, but did I really learn anything useful. Sure, I developed a small sense of fashion, but running around for scarves, skirts and scalding hot Starbucks? Really? I don't want this venture to end in public embarrassment!"

"Who for? The magazine? Your reputation? Miranda?"

"We both know I've got the most to lose here." _But yes to all three,_ she silently added.

"If Miranda wanted Emily or me to do her job, she would have asked. My advice, don't question it-"

"-and do your job," Andy sighed, wandering into the ante-office to the office of the larger than life Editor-in-Chief. She went to sit at her old desk.

"Reminiscing?" asked Nigel.

Andy chuckled. "Merely getting my bearings," she replied, eying the phone. "Do you know if we still use the same florists as we did back then?" she asked abruptly.

"We?"

"The magazine."

"Getting possessive already?"

"Well, if I'm going to be captain of this ship for a month…" she said theatrically.

"I think so. It will be in the directory on the computer."

Andy moved the mouse to dispel the screensaver on the Mac. "I haven't used one of these since I was last here," she muttered as the Mac displayed the login screen. "Ah?" she spun the monitor around to face Nigel. "Care to do the honours and get me into this thing?"

"Actually…" he went into Miranda's office, "they gave me network access codes for you, there's a username and password for you…just need to find the piece of paper…" he said.

Andy decided to have a bit of fun and in her best imitation of Miranda replied: "Really Nigel, do I have to come in there myself? Or is 'glacial', your only setting." She giggled as she watched Nigel's back stiffen abruptly.

"Not funny!" he protested as he turned to see the mirth on Andy's face. "That impression is uncanny, Six."

"I'm beginning to think I can have a lot of fun with it while I'm here. Can you imagine Emily's reaction?" she descended into peals of laughter.

"Here we go. Your username is 'andreasachs'. The password is 'exassistant'. Both are all one word, all lower case. There's a note here saying that you can change the password after you log on for the first time."

"And we're in," announced Andy. "Remind me to tell whoever in IT that I appreciate their sense of humour."

"Yes, boss!"

"Boss?"

"Well…"

"Nah, don't worry…" she smiled. "Now…hmmm….phone directory…this looks like it," she muttered before typing on the keyboard to search for the details of the florist. Only one was given – 24 Hour Flowers. Trust Miranda to only use a florist that she could access at any time of the day or night. Andy herself remembered calling them once at three in the morning in order to get a bouquet prepared for one of Miranda's cousin's wedding when she was doing the assistant job for real.

"Which hospital have they got Miranda in?"

"Mount Sinai."

"Right, is the phone system still the same?"

"You know, I can get Olivia to do this in the morning. You're not an assistant any more, you're the editor."

"Well you know what they say; once an assistant, always an assistant. Nigel, I'd do this anyway, assistant or editor. It's called kindness. I don't want her to think I've forgotten. I care," she shot him a look as she dialled the number on screen.

"Yes. Yes you do," he muttered, wandering back to Miranda's office.

* * *

Business was quiet that evening at 24 Hour Flowers. Then the phone started ringing. The middle aged proprietor, Fiona Ziegler picked it up at the third ring.

" _Good evening!"_ came a bright voice down the line. _"I'm calling from Miranda Priestley's office. I need a bouquet to be delivered to Mount Sinai hospital for tomorrow morning. Is that possible."_

"Miss Sachs? Is that really you?" Fiona replied, smiling.

" _Fiona, how did you know it was me? I haven't worked here in ten years."_

"And in ten years, you are the only one of Miranda's assistants to be so polite. That British one…"

" _Yes, well…"_ the voice chuckled.

"So what will it be Miss Sachs?"

" _You're the expert, just bill it to the magazine's account. As long as it's not freesias. Miranda hates freesias."_

"So it's Miranda in the hospital?"

" _And I'm covering for her here. Just don't tell anybody, only Nigel knows."_

"It will be our secret. Do you want a message to go with the bouquet?"

" _Hmmm…"_ the voice pondered. _"Actually, can you get whoever is delivering it to swing by here first thing tomorrow before going to the hospital? I'd like to write something myself, if that's ok with you."_

"It will be no problem. I will do it myself. Will there be anything else?"

" _Not right now. I'll be sure to call again though next week. This office could do with some decoration!"_

"I'm not the expert there Miss Sachs."

" _I must be going. Lots to do!"_

"Good luck, Miss Sachs!"

" _Take care Fiona!"_ came the jovial reply before the voice rang off.

'Yes, you take care Miss Sachs…' Fiona thought as she went about preparing the flowers for her latest commission.

* * *

Andy replaced the phone and started to go through a mental checklist in her mind.

"OK…now that's done. I want to meet with all the department heads first thing on Monday. I need somebody to find The Book and can they get me all the issues of the magazine going back twelve months. Where's the new second assistant? I need her to start first thing tomorrow. I'll be in the office this weekend, I don't expect anybody but me and my new helper to be here with me. Nigel, feel free to drop in from time to time. Tell Eleanor to keep an eye on Miranda's situation. I need a phone loaded with everybody's numbers with it. I can use my own laptop. Tell Emily that I want to see you and her at seven-thirty on Monday morning, I'll meet with everybody else at nine. Have somebody cancel all of Miranda's appointments next week and get a large wall chart, I want to be able to set individual deadlines for stuff. Oh and while I'm here, lunch is going to be an hour rather than a feeble fifteen minutes. Got all that?"

"Andy? You talking to me?"

"Oh…I said that all out loud, didn't I?" Andy flushed.

"Was I meant to be taking notes?"

"Well Nigel, that would have been helpful," she put her hands on her hips and mock glared at her.

"Is there a bit of paper I can use? Actually, let me get my pad." Andy dug out a battered binder from her bag and started scribbling away.

Nigel went back into the office to retrieve the iPhone and MacBook IT had also sent up. "All yours. The phone has been preprogramed."

"Thank you!" she smiled, ticking off two bullet points off her long list.

"Do we know where The Book is?"

"Eleanor said that the second assistant lost it."

"Where would I put The Book if I had lost it?" Andy muttered, rifling through the drawers of her desk. She found her target buried in the bottom drawer under a pile of papers. "Her assistant must have been really incompetent. There is about a week's worth of paper work in here. That can be somebody else's problem."

"I can get Eleanor to fix it tomorrow."

"No, I'll do it. I need to find my way around. I can get a second assistant and do it. I want nobody from the existing staff in the building until seven thirty on Monday. Actually, I should email them all now…" she trailed off, opening the email client on the Mac.

 _Dear all,_ she typed. "Actually, this might be better coming from you Nigel. I want to surprise them on Monday."

"Surprise them?"

"Why not, I'd rather they be unprepared to face me on Monday. And it avoids them even knowing I exist until they need to know."

"I'll do it," he sighed, opening up his emails on his phone.

 _Dear all,_

 _Miranda will be away from the office next week. Until Monday at 0730, you are not to enter the office. Have a restful weekend. The situation is under control. Enjoy yourselves. Rest. It will be all hands on deck from Monday morning._

 _Nigel Kipling – EiC Men's Runway._

"It's done."

"Thank you Nigel."

"Can you tell HR to send up the replacement assistant to here at nine tomorrow morning? I've got The Book," she said, stuffing the fashion bible into her bag. "I'll look over it tonight. Then the new assistant and I can get the office in order for opening business on Monday. You can come in if you like but…actually…come in tomorrow so we can go over the previous issues unless that's going to be a problem."

"I've got nothing in the morning," Nigel smiled.

Andy put the new MacBook and phone into her bag. "I think we're done here."

"That's all?" Nigel quirked his eyebrow.

"I guess. We have a whole weekend to get things sorted."

"I suppose."

"Hey, you want to grab a bite to eat. We can take a cab somewhere…" Andy trailed off.

"Andrea, you know that one of the perks of being an editor is that you get use of a car and driver?"

"I'm not editor until Monday."

"Well, I'm sure no-one is going to complain."

Andy picked up the phone and dialled the main desk. "This is Andrea Sachs, can I have my car waiting outside in five minutes?"

" _Yes ma'am."_

"Thanks," she put the phone down. "He ma'amed me!" she said in a stage whisper, flushing.

"Well, you're a very powerful person now. You're the boss." Nigel shrugged.

"Yes, but I'm not Miranda."

"You are her equivalent for the next month at least. Get used to it."

"I suppose so. Got any ideas as to where we can get dinner?"

"There's a little place I know on Madison Avenue…"

"Madison Avenue probably isn't within my budget. I'm a print media journalist."

"No," Nigel went back to Miranda's desk. "I nearly forgot to give you this."

"Give me what."

"For the next month you are the editor of the world's greatest fashion title. Anybody tell you that it comes with perks?"

"You don't say?" Andy giggled as Nigel handed her a company credit card.

Attached to the card was a Post-it with a PIN number. "There is no limit on it, but I'm sure that our accountancy people would appreciate it if you didn't try to max it out."

"Now this place on Madison Avenue is in my price range and we are both dressed appropriately. I think we should go eat. We need to have a catch up."

"Tell me Andy, what happened in the past ten years?"

* * *

 _A/N: Hope you enjoyed. Next chapter should be coming soon. Do tell me what you think!_


	3. Chapter Three

**The Guest Editor – Chapter Three**

 _A/N: There has been an awesome response to this story so far. I hope this chapter continues this. The style is slightly different, personally I think it isn't as good, being more descriptive than dialogue based but let me know what you think._

* * *

Friday's dinner with Nigel on Madison Avenue felt like a distant memory by Monday morning. Andy had so much work to do to get her office to function correctly by the start of business. Andy talking about Afghanistan and Egypt or Nigel telling her about the goings on at Men's Runway seemed trivial compared to Andy panicking on Saturday morning that she actually had to run a premier magazine for a month and yet knew nearly nobody in the industry beyond their phone numbers.

To calm down on Saturday morning, she'd dragged a chair into Miranda's office – not yet willing to occupy the Devil's throne herself – and engrossed herself in the Saturday edition of _The New York Times_ whilst waiting for the new assistant from HR to appear. Her coffee – Starbucks - was growing cold as she read the articles in her section, including the little editorial piece penned by her editor.

 _Andy Sachs is taking a break from this paper for a month whilst she pursues a new opportunity. We wish her all the best and look forward to her return. – Ed._

It was nice to know her colleagues at the _Times_ were thinking of her.

For Andy, it was felt surreal to be sat reading in Miranda's office early on a Saturday morning. Even stranger was the fact that she was the only person on her floor in the Elias-Clarke building. There was nobody manning the reception desk, no fashionistas hurrying about with racks of clothes. No phones were ringing off the hook. Nobody was typing. There was no frantic yelling, or exhausted tears. It was eerily quiet. Only Andy and her newspaper sat in a corner of a corner office looking out down Sixth Avenue.

She had jogged to her new place of employment that morning, stuffing a towel, some jeans, T-shirt and sweater in a rucksack. She had dumped her bag in the office, freshened up, changed and then gone out to find her morning essentials – good coffee, a bagel and the day's edition of the _Times._

As was a habit of hers, she took a highlighter to her section and jotted down any improvements that could have been made. She then booted up her work laptop next to the new _Runway_ issued MacBook. On the laptop, she typed up her suggestions for her deputy at the _Times_ before emailing them.

She was about to start on the puzzles section when there was a knock at the door.

* * *

Charlotte Kershaw was a fashion-school graduate and she was being given a job that a million girls would probably kill for. When she got a call that morning from the Human Resources department at Elias-Clarke, she was amazed that she had been considered, let alone chosen to become the new assistant to Miranda Priestley – an icon, a goddess of fashion. All the designers dressed her and she dressed the world. Decisions made in her office could make or break whole careers. She was ruthless but for good reason – ruthlessness resulted in perfection. The woman was her idol.

So she was very surprised when the elevator opened out on an empty _Runway_ production floor. Nobody was manning the front desk. The place was empty. She first thought she'd got out on the wrong floor but the _Runway_ branding was unmistakeable. Nobody appeared to be about and Charlotte was beginning to think that somebody was playing a bad joke on her or maybe this was a bad dream.

That was until she heard a voice call out: "You must be my new assistant. In here if you please."

After a few moments she found the office of the Editor-in-Chief. The ante-office was empty. It took her a moment and for the voice to call again before Charlotte tottered into the legendary office of Miranda Priestley.

"Yes, by all means, impersonate a snail in stilettoes," said the voice as a wingback chair near the window span around to reveal somebody with the _Times_ in front of her face.

"Mrs Priestley, I-"

"'Shakespearian indecision,' thirteen letters," said the voice.

Catherine had nothing to say.

"Never mind, it's 'to be or not to be'," the voice sounded slightly exasperated. The newspaper dropped, revealing the face of the person in the chair.

"You're not Mrs Priestley."

"No. Your powers of observation astound me," Andy said coolly before smirking. "And don't call her 'Mrs Priestley', she hates it!"

"So who are you and what are you doing in her office."

"Andrea Sachs, pleasure to meet you," Andy introduced herself, deciding to go with the full version of her name rather than the shortened 'Andy'. "I'm filling in for Miranda whilst she is in hospital, guest editing if you will. You are?"

"Charlotte Kershaw, HR said I was coming here for an assistant job?"

"Great, you must be the person they sent to replace the last one that gave Miranda a heart attack!"

"Oh well…"

"What sort of experience do you have?"

"I just graduated?"

"Where from?"

"NYU. I did fashion as a major."

"They couldn't give me somebody 'ordinary'," Andy said to herself.

"Well, I guess working at a fashion magazine requires a sense of fashion," Charlotte gave the jeans and sweater Andy was wearing, a pointed look.

"This is weekend casual," Andy gestured at her outfit. "I majored in journalism at Northwestern." Andy smiled. "Let me give you the tour. Dump your bag at the desk on the left over there and I'll show you _Runway_ ," she said briskly.

"Ok."

"Right so you've seen my office. You share the ante-office with the first assistant – somebody called Eleanor. I haven't met her yet."

"How come if you are editor?"

"Technically, I don't start until Monday. I sent everybody else home during the weekend though Nigel might pop by later."

"Nigel?"

"Nigel Kipling, Editor of _Men's Runway_. He's one of maybe two people I know from the last time I was here."

"You used to work here?"

"Oh yeah. I used to do your job about ten years ago. Now I'm an editor at the _Times._ "

"The _New York Times_?"

"And I have the Peabody to prove it," Andy grinned. "I don't deny I usually have nothing to do with fashion. So this will be new for the both of us. There is no doubt you'll have to relearn absolutely everything you learn with me, when Miranda gets back. She has a completely different methodology."

"She's a legend."

"No, she's a sixty-two year old who collapsed at work with a heart attack. She just happens to be a little bit famous."

"You sound like you don't care?"

"Of course I care, but I don't see as legendary. Impressive and unforgettable once you meet her but by no means legendary."

"Why?"

"Well I had no idea who she was until I started working for her. Granted, I starting learning fairly quickly. You'll see when I'm gone. You'll look back at my time in the chair as heaven compared to working for Miranda, mark my words."

"You don't like her?"

"I just never wanted to become her," Andy shrugged. "Let me show you the most exciting thing here and then we can get to work."

"What's that?"

"Oh, you're going to be impressed," Andy chuckled as she went over to a familiar set of double doors. "Welcome…to the Closet." Throwing the doors open would have been impressive if Andy then didn't have to fumble around inside for a light switch. "Ta dah!" she laughed as miles of shelving stacked with designer garments were illuminated by the fluorescents overhead."

"Oh my God!"

"Quite something isn't it," Andy smirked in satisfaction. "The magazine gets sent sample sizes in two and four by the designers for publication. After the photo shoots, the stuff gets sent here and _Runway_ staff can 'borrow' things at will. And I say 'borrow' in the most liberal sense."

"We can take this stuff?"

"As long as it isn't needed for a future edition, yes. You can take some of it."

"Oh my God!"

"Yep!" Andy smirked. "Your first task Charlotte is to get four days' worth of outfits for me from the shelves. I'm a size four. Eight and a half for shoes. I want elegance that isn't overstated but I want commanding."

"Any design preference?"

"Yeah, stay away from anything fluffy or poncho like."

"Yes, ma'am."

"Get some stuff for yourself if you feel like it. Come back in half an hour and show me what you've got. That's all."

* * *

Charlotte delivered. By the time Andy finished her crossword, Charlotte had procured four 'acceptable' outfits for the editor of a fashion magazine. Andy didn't reject anything. Truth be told, she had enough clothing for a weeks' worth of outfits in her apartment. By getting Charlotte to choose for her, she had an outfit ready to go each morning so she could jog in to work – she doubted she would get time at the gym in the mornings with the new job.

Whilst Charlotte was rummaging in the Closet, the florist's courier came by and Andy added her note to Miranda to the bouquet:

 _I was surprised you asked. Thank you for the opportunity. Wishing you a speedy recovery. – AS_

Short and to the point. Not overly sentimental. Probably just what Miranda would want; not that she could ask for any more.

"Charlotte?" Andy called.

"Yes, Ms Sachs." Charlotte hurried into the office, empty handed.

"Have you got a pad and pen?"

"Yes, but it's out there, can I?"

"Yes, yes." Charlotte darted out and back in a moment whilst Andy considered whether she should let Charlotte call her 'Andrea'. 'Ms Sachs' would do for now. "Have you got to grips with the computer system yet, Charlotte?"

"Yes, Ms Sachs."

"Right, your desk is full of paperwork that your predecessor failed to deal with it. I'd like you to sort it out. Divide it into two piles. One pile of things that are important. Bring that pile to me. Put the other pile on Eleanor's desk, that way she can see if you've missed anything."

"Yes, Ms Sachs."

"Then call HR, ask them to send us a list of everybody on the staff at _Runway._ I want to have a list of everybody, with a photograph of them if possible on my desk in an hour. I'm going to go to the Art Department and dig up some back issues of the magazine whilst you do that."

"Yes, Ms Sachs."

"Once you've done all that, come and get me and we will see what else needs to be done before we go and get lunch. You know what we are doing?"

"Yes, Ms Sachs."

"Ask me if you have any questions. I'll try my best to answer them."

"Anything else, Ms Sachs?"

"No thank you," Andy smiled. "That's all." Andy watched Charlotte leave. "No," she called out, "actually can you get me that staff list first?"

"On it."

"Thank you!"

* * *

Whilst Charlotte was busy with her list of tasks, Andy hunted down all the back copies of _Runway_ that she could find. She sorted them chronologically, got a pad and started to make some general notes. She would occasionally buy _Runway_ if the cover stood out on the newsstand, but that was only ever rarely. Her speed-reading of the magazine allowed her to make sense of the general direction of the publication. Each issue came to about 500 pages. Sometimes less but often much more.

She abandoned her notes once she received the staff list from Charlotte.

"You have a second copy of this?" Andy asked her assistant.

"I can print one."

"I need you to get a good idea of who is who on this list. I'll do the same. I need to draft a memo that can be emailed to everybody about Miranda and I need to email the department heads. I want a rundown of everything they've done in the past twelve months and everything they plan to do in the next six. I need you to go and get hold of some copies of _Vogue_."

"You realise that is–" Charlotte began.

"Hersey saying that in Miranda's office?" Andy smirked. "Its opposition research. The reason Miranda Priestley and Anna Wintour have lasted so long is because they are masters of their craft. I want to match their standard with this issue but I don't want to imitate them."

"Fair point."

"If Miranda wanted to have somebody imitate her work, she should have had someone else do this job."

"I guess."

"Go then!"

"What about the paperwork?"

"Do that when you get back. I'll see you later. If you are out past two o'clock trying to track down back issues then take some time for lunch."

"Yes, Ms Sachs."

"And have a proper lunch. I once knew somebody who tried to sustain the perfect weight by eating cheese cubes. It isn't healthy."

"Yes, Ms Sachs."

"I'm serious Charlotte. I don't want you to starve yourself." Andy said, taking in her assistant's lithe frame as she put on a jacket.

After Charlotte had taken the elevator downstairs, Andy started looking at the staff list. Charlotte had created a large bundle, catalogued by department. She had managed to get photos for most people and a copy of their resumes. She started with her own staff.

Charlotte, was as she said, recently graduated from NYU after completing a fashion degree. She had no other prior experience in the industry but had interned with an internet clothing firm called _About the Fit_ in her second year. Andy saw her as competent, not as efficient as she might have liked but that could be worked on.

Eleanor Chambers had been Miranda's first assistant for the past six months. Unremarkable but she seemed to have lasted longer than most of Miranda's assistants.

Emily Charlton had become Nigel's deputy and later took his old position as Artistic Director when Nigel left to head up _Men's Runway._

Serena was still in cosmetics though had been recently approached by _Harper's Bazaar_.

Everybody else was either new or unimportant.

She did commit to memory the names and identities of her department heads and Googled the reputation of her features editor. Whilst doing so, she also noted that Irving Ravitz was still in charge of the board of Elias Clarke, where Miranda now held a non-executive seat. Presumably, Miranda also held stock options, in addition to the list of designers who would follow her if she ever chose to leave _Runway_ permanently.

Jacqueline Follet beat a speedy retreat to _French Runway_ when the James Holt venture collapsed in less than 18 months according to Wikipedia. 'Nigel dodged a bullet there', thought Andy, glad that her old friend was eventually recompensed by Miranda.

As for the magazine, circulation was up…as were costs. Thankfully, the magazine was still making a profit once you took into account digital content. The advertising revenue in the print edition made the magazine break even. Still, it would probably be better for all concerned if hundreds of thousands of dollars were not wasted each time somebody needed to retake a set of photographs.

* * *

By the time Andy looked at the clock, she realised that lunch was in order. She left a short note explaining this to Charlotte as well as a short list of tasks that she could get on with before hopping in the elevator in search of a sandwich.

The sandwich was bought and consumed from a little shop around the block. Andy didn't know the name of the place, but the sandwich itself was heavenly. Whilst she was out, she took the liberty of purchasing several dozen identical writing pads from Staples, clearing out their mediocre stock. Then Andy found herself in a bit of a pickle. There were just too many pads to carry back to the office and she had forgotten her phone to call for her car or for her assistant. She was stuck in Staples having bought the paper equivalent of a small tree.

It took Andy several moments before she felt like an idiot. No doubt Miranda would ask if she had "smacked her little head on the pavement" if she ever found out that Andy had forgotten that New York was the land of the yellow cab…

The cab was duly hailed and with the assistance of the doorman in the lobby of the Elias-Clarke building, Andy was soon back in her office with more writing pads than she could ever possibly use. Charlotte gave her a look as if she was mad. Andy shrugged.

"You'll see," was all she said as she lugged the lot into her office on a trolley.

"Can I help? Ms Sachs?"

"I've got it. Did you get those copies of _Vogue_ I asked for?"

"Yes, Ms Sachs."

"Did HR give you a phone this morning?"

"No, Ms Sachs."

"Right, I'll make sure you get one on Monday. I want you in the office at seven fifteen on Monday morning. I'm meeting with Nigel and Emily at seven thirty for breakfast and meeting with the other department heads at eight thirty. I need multiple copies of The Book – you know, the draft edition of the magazine – produced by lunchtime on Monday, I'll give you the original on Monday morning. Keep an eye on your emails, I might send you a few things you need to do for me before Monday. Unlike Miranda, I don't need a special coffee order in the mornings but I will be in before everybody else so it doesn't matter. I'll see you in," Andy looked at her watch, "about 40 hours. Enjoy your Sunday, we'll be hitting the ground running on Monday morning. Any questions?"

"Will you need me tomorrow?"

"God no! I'll work from home. Anything else you need to ask me before then?"

"No, Ms Sachs."

"I'll you on Monday then. That's all."

* * *

After texting Nigel to tell Emily to be in the office at seven thirty on Monday along with his good self, Andy gathered a few editions of _Runway_ and _Vogue_ , shut down her laptop, left her MacBook on Miranda's desk, packed away her pad and pens into her rucksack and headed for the door.

She was tempted to text Nigel again to ask for an update on Miranda's condition when the phone began to ring at her old desk. Without hesitation, she picked up on the second ring.

"Miranda Priestley's office, how can I help you?"

" _Andy? It's really you?"_

* * *

 _A/N: Who is calling? The Monday scene people are looking for will be coming if not next chapter, in Chapter Five. I'm British so please excuse anything that sounds totally out of place in America. I did do my research and there is a Staples store two blocks from the fictional location of the Elias Clarke building in Manhattan – I do try. Advice on the spelling of 'Priestley' would be helpful. Some people drop the second 'e'. Next chapter coming soon._

 _An awful lot of you feel that MirAndy should be a thing. If it is a thing, it will be subtle…_

 _Do tell me what you think in the box below!_


	4. Chapter Four

**The Guest Editor – Chapter Four**

 _A/N: Hello! I hope this chapter doesn't sound too rushed. I've crammed a lot in! I'm keeping the second 'e' in 'Priestley' for now. It looks more natural. I'll probably change it later. I hope you enjoy!_

* * *

"Miranda Priestley's office, how can I help you?"

" _Andy? It's really you?"_ came the voice down the line.

"This is Andrea Sachs, who is this?"

" _I'm almost offended you don't remember us."_

"It has been some time since I worked for your Mom. I'm surprised that you remember me! Now, which twin am I talking to you?" Andy smiled into the phone.

" _So you did know who it was."_

"I know it's one of the twins."

" _Are you going to guess which one?"_

"Nope. You tell me."

" _It's Cassidy. I'm calling to thank you for the flowers. We were trying to work out who 'AS' was, took us most of the afternoon."_

"How's your Mom?"

" _She hasn't woken up yet."_ Cassidy sighed. _"Are you coming to visit?"_

"I—" Andy was tempted to try and dodge the question. She was here to edit, not to nurse.

" _Andy?"_

"Well—"

" _You know she missed you after you left. I remember she came home Paris all flustered that year…and a bit bitter. We didn't ask her what was wrong, but you stopped delivering The Book so we kind of guessed you had left. She would have said if she had fired you. So you must have quit…"_

"Yes, I quit."

" _She didn't hate you enough to ruin you. That's a plus right?"_

"I'm still surprised she didn't."

" _I read some of your stuff in the newspapers from time to time. How come you are back at Runway? The note was watermarked."_

' _Of course it was.'_ Andy thought. "Your Mom wanted me to take over whilst she is sick," she said gently.

" _That's great!"_

"There is a lot to be done."

" _There always is at this time of year. The fashion weeks are coming, I guess Mom won't be able to make it. Will you be going instead?"_

"I really don't know. I'm not sure I'll be in her chair for that long. Depends on your Mom."

" _Mom is unconscious in a hospital bed right now."_

"I know and I'm sorry."

" _What for? You aren't the incompetent assistant who gave her a heart attack? I never did like her any way…none of her assistants were as impressive as you."_

"Cassidy, I had my reasons."

" _I'm sure you did, but you're back now and that's what matters. No point dwelling on the past."_

"I guess not."

" _So will you be visiting her?"_

"Cassidy—"

" _I understand you have a lot to do."_

"What I was going to say Cassidy," Andy smiled into the phone, "is that I'll drop by tomorrow afternoon."

" _If she's awake, I'm sure she'll appreciate it."_

"I'll give you my cell number so you can get in touch if anything changes. I'll be working from home all day tomorrow."

Andy and Cassidy exchanged contact details for herself and Caroline.

" _Andy?"_

"Yeah?"

" _Why did you leave?"_

Andy groaned. It was the million dollar question.

" _Andy?"_

She decided that honesty was the best policy. "Your Mom did something to a friend of mine that was cruel and humiliating and then made me realise that I had done something similar to somebody else and I didn't want to be that person anymore."

" _Oh,"_ came Cassidy's voice down the line.

"Yeah, well as you said, it's all in the past. No point dwelling on it. Besides, we've all moved on."

" _I'm not sure she has?"_

"What do you mean?"

" _It's just…ah just forget I said anything."_

"Cassidy!?"

" _Well why did she ask you? You, of all people to come back? You to take over?"_

"I don't know."

" _Andy?"_

"That's the truth of it."

" _I suppose we can only ask when she wakes up."_

"I guess so. Listen, I'll be there tomorrow afternoon. I'll text you. Call if there is any change in her condition."

" _Sure."_

"Look after yourself Cassidy. Say hello to Caroline for me."

" _Good luck Andy. We'll be there when you visit tomorrow."_

"I look forward to it."

" _See you then."_

"Good bye!" Andy hung up. She slumped in her old office chair as she contemplated Cassidy's words. Had Miranda moved on? Surely she had if she was going to let Andy edit _Runway_. She decided not to dwell any further on it and left to take the subway home.

* * *

Andy spent most of her Sunday going through fashion magazines in her apartment whilst listening to music on her iPod. The sun was streaming through the windows as she worked. Her apartment was the loft of a converted warehouse, still on the Lower East Side but in much better shape than the walk up she had shared with Nate ever was. In any case, the place she had shared with the chef who had gone to Boston had been condemned and demolished six years ago.

She ate lunch on the subway on the way to the hospital, she supposed she could have called for a car but it was the weekend. Andy didn't want to adopt the editorial executive persona quite yet. Tomorrow would be the day for power dressing and intimidation. A small part of her wondered if she could scare everybody the next morning with a whirlwind arrival before she remembered that she intended to be the first one in on Monday morning. Miranda striking the fear of god into everybody on the nineteenth floor of the Elias-Clarke building every morning would forever impress her. Andy wasn't quite so sure she could imitate it.

Although the Miranda who scared the clackers every morning seemed only distantly related to the patient lying in the hospital bed in front of her, hooked up to countless machines and displays. Andy just stood there for a moment, trying to take it all in. Miranda looked so small in the bed. Without the killer heels she tended to wear, Andy had forgotten how small Miranda actually was. Her hair was a mess and the lack of make-up aged her otherwise youthful features. No doubt Miranda would have called her hospital gown a crime against fashion if she was awake to see it.

It hadn't registered with Andy that this was the first time that she had been in the same room as Miranda since Paris all those years ago. She'd seen her on TV and read the magazine from time to time but any personal connection had died. All her connections with _Runway_ quickly evaporated once she had quit. Calling Emily to give her the rest of the clothes from Paris had been the last time she had heard from the British assistant, now artistic director.

Changing address once Nate had left for Boston probably didn't help any effort to stay in touch. Neither did leaving the _Mirror_ months after she had started to start working freelance. Nor did having her bag containing her phone and address book stolen on the subway one evening. She supposed they could have contacted her – her credentials were readily available online – but they didn't. Besides, she made new friends every time she took up a new job.

Friends or colleagues? Lily moved to LA soon after Nate left for Boston. Doug was her only friend left from the 'old' days but they saw each other less than they would have liked. 'Friends' she made at the _Mirror_ or _Associated Press_ or _Reuters_ quickly became acquaintances retained on Facebook for future reference – that or she followed them on Twitter. What journalist didn't have Twitter? A quick check on Andy's phone established that Miranda had an account on the social network – albeit having only sent eight tweets and having been left unused since 2010.

She could not imagine Miranda texting, let alone tweeting.

The twins arrived moments after Andy did so, snapping her out of her reverie.

Caroline and Cassidy would still look identical had Caroline not cut her hair. She was sporting a pixie-cut. Cassidy had her long hair hunched into a pony tail. Both were staring at screens.

They hadn't noticed her at first. Then Cassidy looked up from her phone.

"Andy!" she said brightly, " you came!" crossing the room to hug her.

"Yeah," Andy replied as they hugged. "You've grown."

The twins gave her a look as if to say 'duh?"

"I guess this is a 'welcome back'," Caroline sighed.

"Cassidy said I was missed." Andy hugged Caroline.

"She missed you most." Caroline gestured to Miranda.

"She told me that too Caroline."

"How are you coping?"

"Fine." Caroline said. Cassidy nodded.

"So what's the diagnosis?" Andy looked at the hospital bed.

"Mom had a ST segment elevation myocardial infarction or STEMI. One of her coronary arteries had a blockage. The surgeons operated on her after she came into the ER. They cleared the blockage and installed a stent. She's been dosed up on medication ever since. If all goes to plan, she can come out of hospital in two weeks," explained Caroline.

"She won't like that." Andy said.

"No but that's what the doctor said and I agree with him," said Caroline.

"No need to show off Caroline. You haven't graduated yet," groaned Cassidy.

"Wait, you're 21, both of you. You should have graduated."

"I'm reading Medicine at Oxford." Caroline said. "She, on the other hand, just finished an English degree."

"Where did you go Cassidy?"

"Princeton."

"How did you find it?"

"It was great. Not sure what to do next though."

"Yeah, figures. I didn't know what I wanted to do once I graduated from Northwestern."

"But you still came to work for Mom," Caroline said. "I've got another four years at Oxford to get through."

"I still haven't decided if working for your Mom was a blessing or a curse," Andy smiled.

"She respects you, you know." Cassidy said, looking at her mother on the bed.

"Who know what goes on in her mind? She left editing _Runway_ to a political journalist so go figure."

"But you're good at what you do. The _Times_ is a good paper. We Googled some of your articles last night. They're interesting." Caroline insisted.

"The first day I started working for your Mom, I didn't know who she was and I had never, ever read the magazine. I had absolutely no head for fashion, I still don't. I worked for your Mom for less than a year. That's all my experience of the fashion industry. So beyond editing, I really don't have a clue what I'm doing."

"You'll learn." Caroline said confidently.

"Quickly." Cassidy added.

"I guess I will."

"What's it like, working for the _New York Times_?" Cassidy was genuinely interested. Being a journalist was an option that was open to her.

Andy talked to the twins for what seemed like hours. They managed to avoid the subject of Andy suddenly upping sticks and disappearing for the time being and only left Miranda's room when the nurse chivvied them away.

They didn't realise that Miranda had been listening to them talk the whole time.

"Well this has been fun guys. I should be going."

"We should have lunch one day, and you should visit again." Cassidy said.

"You've got my number."

"I'll call your assistant and arrange it."

"You probably know where to have lunch around here better than me. I usually settle for a bagel or a wrap or something at my desk."

"We'll have to treat you then," smiled Caroline.

"It was good to see you both."

"Likewise."

"Call me if her condition changes."

"Of course."

"Do you want a lift Andy?" asked Cassidy, gesturing at a cab waiting at the kerb.

"I think I'll enjoy a walk in the park. But thanks for the offer."

"We'll be in touch!" called Caroline.

"I look forward to it!" Andy replied.

* * *

Monday morning came all too quickly.

Emily Charlton hadn't enjoyed her weekend off. Weekends off were a rarity. Had it been in more pleasant circumstances, she might have actually been able to relax or go shopping. As it happened, she spent most of it in her apartment clutching her phone waiting for either Nigel or the Twins to call her. Serena had taken her out for lunch on both days, and dinner but she had little to no appetite. Her boss could be on her deathbed and she could do nothing for her.

Monday put her in a panic. Nigel had told her not to come in until Monday morning and then she had received a text from him telling her that they would be meeting in Miranda's office at seven thirty on Monday morning. It was logical that she would take over _Runway_ whilst Miranda was away. This merely confirmed it. Although looking back in hindsight, Emily wondered how her addled mind could delude itself in such a manner. She had been Deputy Artistic Director for three years before Nigel left to set up _Men's Runway_ four years ago. Then she was promoted to his old job. She was experienced. She was loyal. She was dedicated to the magazine. Why shouldn't she become the Acting Editor-in-Chief?

Emily had forgotten that there was more to editing _Runway_ than simply photographs and font styles.

Nigel on the other hand was just looking forward to the fireworks in Miranda's office when Emily discovered who would be taking Miranda's chair for the next month. If he wanted to take the experience further, he could have brought popcorn. Although that would have been very professional. He was immaculately dressed that morning, as always.

He got to the office at seven twenty-five that morning to find the _Runway_ offices very empty. It seemed that everybody complied with his instructions not to enter the office until seven thirty. Miranda's office door was uncharacteristically closed. Eleanor was nowhere to be seen, but Andy's old desk was now occupied by a blonde he had never seen before.

"You must be her new assistant." Nigel said.

"Charlotte Kershaw. You must be Mr Kipling."

"Nigel, please."

"You can go on through, she's expecting you."

"Has Emily arrived yet? We have a seven thirty?"

"Not yet, I'll send her through when she gets here."

"Thank you." He went over to the door to the lion's den – or what had been the equivalent of the lion's den when Miranda was queen of all she surveyed. He swallowed, not knowing what to expect before knocking politely.

"Come in!" Andy called from within.

She looked good. There was no denying it. Safe. Classic. Timeless. She obviously hadn't forgotten everything he taught her in the Closet. The black Chanel blazer was back, coupled with the Louboutins and white blouse. The skirt was once again unremarkable, but the cut suited her. She was wearing her hair down.

She was glaring at the door before Nigel entered, though her expression quickly softened when she saw her visitor.

"Expecting somebody else?" he asked, closing the door behind him.

"No, trying to work this crossword clue out," said Andy, exasperated. Only then did Nigel recognise the day's _Times_ spread out on Miranda's desk. He chuckled.

"What's the clue?"

"Krupp Works city."

"Got any of the letters?"

"Nope. I know the name 'Krupp' though. It's German. Ah well, no chance of beating my personal best today." Andy flung the paper aside, swivelling her chair to look out of the window.

"What is your personal best?"

"About 15 minutes. Tell me Nigel," she beckoned him to the window. "What do you see?"

"Sixth Avenue on a Monday morning."

"Do you think they know what is done in this office? Do you know if they think it is important? How many people do you see reading _Runway_ or _Vogue_ in the morning?"

"None. But that doesn't mean that they don't read it. Neither does it mean that it's unimportant."

"Can I just say, reading back to back editions of those magazines, bored me to tears yesterday."

"Well—"

"I mean, who actually needs fifteen pages on accessories, most of which cost more than my monthly rent?"

"Well—"

"It's just all a bit predictable. December issue – snow scene for the cover. August issue – beach scenes. It's almost boring."

"Maybe that's why she has brought you in."

"Perhaps. But I can't see the magazine reaching new audiences if it is just more and more of the same. I looked at the numbers over the weekend, the print edition barely covers its costs. _Runway_ makes its money online through advertising revenue. I still think it's insane that we spend a quarter of a million dollars on a single photo shoot. It's insane."

"Its high quality."

"But I bet it can be done cheaper. All you need is a guy with a decent camera, a model, the clothes and a good images editor. You don't need to hire out a load of divas every time for a shoot that you are likely to have redone any way."

"You're in charge."

"I know."

"So do something about it. You've got the power. Why the hell are you complaining to me? This is your ship now Andy. You've got everybody at your beck and call. In essence, you're this month's Miranda. You certainly look the part."

"So I've got some ideas," she said. "Wait, what did you say?"

"You certainly look the part?"

"No before that."

"I said you're in charge, why are you complaining to me and in essence…"

"That's it!" she said excitedly, snatching her discarded crossword puzzle from the floor. "Essen," she said, sitting in her chair with her back to the door, scribbling in the word.

"Pardon?"

"Krupp works city. Krupp are based in Essen in Germany."

"Right, well. As I said, you're the one in charge. You get to make the decisions."

"I've got some ideas," she turned to look out of the window.

There was knock at the door.

"Come in," called Andy.

Emily saw Nigel first.

"Nigel," she said, looking up from her phone, "Miranda had surgery over the weekend. She's stable. Who is that?"

"You're late Emily. You know how a glacial pace thrills me." Andy put on her coldest Miranda impression.

Emily audibly gulped and checked her watch to find she was indeed late by a whole 90 seconds.

Nigel pretended to ignore Andy and said playfully; "Good morning Emily. Good weekend?"

Andy, still turned away from Emily, smirked.

"Nigel? I said, who is that in Miranda's chair?"

"Oh that, well that…" Nigel tried to play for time.

"That," Andy kept imitating Miranda's voice, "would be me, the new editor." Andy swivelled her chair to face Emily.

Emily looked upon a face she hadn't seen in person in nearly a decade.

"You?!" she half muttered, half shrieked.

"Yes. Me." Andy replied, reverting to her normal accent.

"I don't believe…" Emily trailed off.

"Well that much is evident by the look on your face," she said shortly crossing the room to the door.

"I—"

"Charlotte, could you bring in breakfast for three please? Emily, close your mouth, unless you wish to continue impersonating a trout." she called out into the ante-office as Emily's mouth snapped shut.

"Yes, Ms Sachs."

"Right, we have a very long day." Andy stood, motioning the other two into the guest chairs in front of her desk. "And you know what they say, breakfast is the most important meal of the day so I took the liberty of having it brought up," she smiled as Charlotte brought in a tray of pastries, bagels and toast as well as a pitcher of orange juice. "I hope you came hungry. In fact, Emily, I know you didn't eat breakfast. "

"I—" Emily protested.

"The days of eating cubes of cheese are over," Andy said sharply. "Thank you Charlotte. Tell me when Eleanor gets in please. That's all," she dismissed her assistant.

"Now then shall we begin?"

* * *

 _A/N: Do tell me what you think! I have absolutely no clue when it comes to fashion - much like Andy - so any advice on the subject would be helpful. Hopefully I can make something sound believable from my limited experience._ _This will be probably the last update this week. I'm on holiday and the time has come to do some real work. I'm amazed by the response to this story. I have captive audience! Don't go anywhere. The next chapter is coming soon…_


	5. Chapter Five

**The Guest Editor – Chapter Five**

 _A/N: WOW! I'm amazed at the response to this story. And it keeps on coming. Over a hundred of you have this added to your alerts now! Apologies for the delay in posting, you might want to go back over the story to refresh your memories. I hope you enjoy._

* * *

Irving Ravitz, CEO of Elias-Clarke, had a good feeling about today. He could finally deal once and for all with what had been a very prickly thorn in his side for the past fifteen years. Today was the day he could replace Miranda Priestly with somebody who could respect corporate decisions. The dragon had left the building.

Okay, it might be seen as immoral to replace the woman whilst she was in hospital; recovering from a heart attack no less, but Irving knew that he wouldn't get a second chance. Good business relied on chances. Besides, he could always argue that Miranda wasn't fit to run _Runway_. How could their flagship publication function if its editor was at risk of a coronary if she had too much steak for lunch?

Miranda had been at the helm for nearly three decades. It was time for change. _Runway_ had so much potential but only turned a tiny profit. It was a financial black hole. How Miranda could justify her exorbitant spending in producing the magazine month after month…

So he was enraged to hear, on the office grapevine no less, that Miranda had had the foresight to go ahead and appoint a successor in her absence. The successor would have to be dismissed as a matter of course. Miranda wouldn't be able to do anything about it. He could have somebody who was actually commercially viable take the helm of _Runway_ and then this person could be justifiably seen as a replacement for Miranda. And Miranda would be no more.

He could dismiss the interloper and have Jacqueline Follet, who was already on a plane to New York, in Miranda's chair by the end of the day. All he had to do was make the calls.

* * *

Charlotte was the unfortunate who picked up the phone.

"Good morning, Miranda Priestly's office."

" _Get whoever is in the office to my office now."_

"I'm sorry, who is this?"

" _This is Irving Ravitz."_

"And you are? Sir?"

" _The boss. I'm the CEO."_

"But Mrs Priestly is the head at _Runway_?"

" _And I'm the CEO of Elias-Clarke. I'm her boss. Now send whoever is sat in her office to my office now."_

"And where is your office? Sir?"

" _Oh this is ridiculous. I'm coming down there myself. You can clear out your desk. You're fired. Be gone by the time I get there."_ The line went dead. Charlotte just sat there in shock which quickly became tears.

* * *

There was a knock at the door as Nigel and Andy were eating breakfast whilst Emily pushed a Danish around her plate.

"Come in!" Andy called, through a mouthful of bagel.

The door opened to reveal Charlotte in floods of tears.

"Charlotte whatever's the matter?"

"I—", Charlotte sobbed, "I've been told to tell you that Irving Ravitz is coming down now and that I've been fired."

"What?" asked a now shocked Andy.

"Irving Ravitz is coming down…"

"Yes, I got that bit. He fired you?"

"Yes, Ms Sachs."

"On what grounds?"

"He called the office and I didn't know who he was and he asked me to send you to his office and I asked where his office was and then he fired me."

"Right, Charlotte you're not fired. Stay here, I'll go and speak to Mr Ravitz and sort this out."

"There won't be any need for that, he's already here, and now all our jobs are on the line…Christ I love my job!" muttered Emily as she watched the short statured CEO of Elias-Clarke come barrelling into the ante-office.

"Mr Ravitz." Nigel rose in greeting. "May I introduce Andrea Sachs from the _Times_ , she'll be filling in for Miranda whilst she is recovering from her heart attack."

"Nigel, I've already got somebody lined up to take over," he then turned to Andy and smiled, "I'm sure that Ms Sachs is a good journalist but her services are no longer-"

He was cut off by an increasingly irate Andy Sachs. "Peabody Award winning journalist."

"I'm sorry?"

"I'm not just a 'good journalist', I'm a Peabody Award winning journalist," she said curtly, glaring at him. "Folks, can we have the room for a moment?"

* * *

Emily was happy to escape. Nigel seemed a little shaken. Charlotte was still sniffling. Nigel offered her his handkerchief.

"She must be mad!" Emily sighed, pinching her nose. "What does she expect to achieve?"

"I have no idea." Nigel gave a wry smile.

* * *

"My services are no longer required?" Andy echoed once the door had shut. "It's a good job you don't remember me Mr Ravitz for I certainly remember you. Boy am I glad you don't employ me."

"I employ the Editor of _Runway-_ " Irv began before he was cut off.

"Who is currently recovering from a heart attack but could probably run this magazine from her hospital bed if she so tried."

"So who are you?"

"Google me," Andy smirked. "The fact is, it doesn't really matter who I am. I'm the person who will give you the most profitable edition of _Runway_ that Elias-Clarke has seen in many years. I'll ignore the lack of morality in firing a woman whilst she's in intensive care and cut to the chase. You were going to come in here, after firing my new assistant and then fire me."

Irv nodded.

"Tiny problem with your logic there. Technically, I don't work for you, so you can't fire me."

"I'm going to call security."

"No you aren't."

"Watch me," he moved to the door.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you," she called.

"What are you going to do? Stop me?"

"No. In the time it takes you to make the call, I'll have called my editor and arranged for a full-page ad in tomorrow's _Times_ criticising the performance of you and the company. Then I'll call Miranda and tell her what you have done. Depending on how long it takes for security to get here, I can probably even get our cartoonist to capture your likeness; the guy owes me a favour. Either way, once Miranda hears that you are trying to effect a coup at _Runway_ then I'm sure that she'll produce her list of designers, photographers and models who would leave with her. Not to mention withdrawing her stock options…"

Irv hesitated.

"…so do you really want to make that call?" Andy finished, daring the short man to act. She would find designing the ad and approving the cartoon very satisfying. Irv was still stood there, mulling things over.

"Sit down Irv. We're not done," she said coolly.

Irv stat, stunned into silence.

"I know about the problems you have with the magazine. Its over-budget and barely in the black. I can change that. And do you know what the best bit is Irv?" she smiled at him. There was a moment of silence. "Irv?"

"I don't know," he ground out. He was not enjoying be treated like a child.

"You don't know Irv? And I thought you were meant to be an intelligent man. I don't work for you Irv, so you aren't paying me anything but expenses. That includes this wonderful breakfast," she gestured at the remains of the meal that had been interrupted. "Would you like something to eat Irv? A bagel perhaps?" she gestured at the bun on the tray on the desk.

"No thank you."

"More's the pity. I'll just have to have it later," she set the bagel aside. "You see Irv, you just interrupted my breakfast. I don't like that. I also didn't like that you also had the temerity to fire my assistant without consulting me first. Why was that?"

"She was rude."

"Charlotte has a good head on her shoulders. This is her first day. If we never gave anybody a second chance we wouldn't get anything done. Would we Irv?"

"I guess-"

"So I'm giving you a second chance Irv. Now I'll enjoy my breakfast and I won't call Miranda. You will apologise to Charlotte and then you will go back downstairs. If you want to talk to me, schedule an appointment with Charlotte. That's all."

* * *

Irv was dismissed. He left the office with his proverbial tail between his legs, his pride wounded.

"Uh, who is Charlotte?"

"That would be me," sniffed the woman in question in the ante-office.

"My mistake, you aren't fired. Keep up the good work," he tried to smile but it came out like a grimace of pain.

"Um—" she began but Irv was already heading to the elevators.

"Nigel, Emily, Charlotte?" called Andy from inside the office.

The three of them entered the office warily. Emily almost expected an Andy sized hole in the window or to be walking into the remains of a warzone. Instead, Andy looked like the cat who had eaten the canary.

"Charlotte, move the meeting of department heads from my office to a boardroom on the executive floor, then call the press department and have them issue a short release…"

 _Miranda Priestly, editor in chief of_ Runway _magazine suffered a serious heart attack on Friday. She is in a stable but serious condition in hospital and is not expected to return to work for the next few weeks. Andrea Sachs of the_ New York Times _will be heading the Runway team in the meantime. We wish Miranda a speedy recovery…_ \- So read the short piece on the _Runway_ website that was issued to the major press agencies by Monday lunch time.

"Nigel, Emily, I'd like you both in on the meeting. I need to establish a little credibility among these people. Can you do that?"

"Sure," said Nigel, although Emily didn't look convinced.

"What did you do to Irv?" she asked.

"I believe that I - as you British would say - 'sent him packing!'" Andy smiled. "He wanted to fire me and no doubt replace me with Jacqueline Follet or somebody equally ghastly."

"Jacqueline would be the logical choice. But-" Nigel was cut off.

"Nobody can do what Miranda does." Andy and Emily finished together smiling at one another.

"What do you want us to do?" asked Emily.

* * *

Andy's 'appointment' wasn't common knowledge so she decided to use that little titbit of information to her advantage. They arrived fashionably late. With the amount of 'props' Andy wanted to use, it had taken the combined effort of herself, Charlotte, Nigel and two clackers to transport everything. Emily, was by design not carrying anything. She was acting more imperious than ever. Andy would have only found the image of the two spindly women, tottering along in painfully high heels, struggling to keep their balance whilst carrying boxes writing pads and back issues of the magazine, funnier if one of them had been Emily.

The department heads were already waiting when the entourage made an appearance on the executive floor. Serena was noticeably absent with a meeting at _Harper's Bazaar_.

"You two can leave those over there," Emily ordered. "Then you can go," she told the clackers. "That leaves you two to distribute it all. Charlotte can do the magazines." It left Andy, the dutiful assistant, distributing the pads. "Ladies and gentlemen, if you could take your seats, we'll begin shortly."

"You're both new."

"Yes we are," smiled Charlotte. "You would be?"

"Michelle Eastleigh, Cosmetics," the woman said. "Are you Miranda's new assistants?"

"In a manner of speaking," Charlotte said.

"Emily, are you acting-EiC?" asked a man in a dapper suit.

"No."

"Who is?"

"Andrea Sachs. She's from the New York Times. One of Miranda's former colleagues," Emily said.

"What is she like?"

"Good sense of humour. Defends her friends. Smart. Witty. A bit of a perfectionist. Don't underestimate her." Nigel warned.

"Or her sense of fashion!" Emily added.

Andy flushed slightly, turning to the wall to hide it. Nigel tried to disguise a snort of laughter as a cough. "Are you quite alright Nigel?" Emily asked curtly. Of course, she didn't expect him to answer.

"Is she like Miranda?" a second woman asked Charlotte.

"It's my first day so I don't know, I haven't met her yet," said Charlotte. "Miranda that is."

"To quote a former art director, 'gird your loins!' She eats assistants like you for breakfast," said Michelle, looking towards Nigel "What's the going rate at the moment Angie?" she turned to the woman sat next to her.

"Oh I don't know…about one a month, probably less. I've lost count." the woman tittered as Andy distributed the last of the pads.

"Well I lasted eight months," Andy spoke for the first time.

"That long? Must be a record. How come I've never seen you before?" asked Michelle.

"Because it was ten years ago."

"Wait? What?"

But Andy had already moved on. She'd crossed the room to pour herself a glass of water from the carafe on the side.

"Now that we are all settled, I'll begin," said Emily, sitting in one of the chairs at the top end of the table. She left the head of the table conspicuously empty. Andy was still at the drinks carafe whilst Nigel sat opposite her, next to the man in the dapper suit. Charlotte had moved to stand behind the chair at the head of the table.

"As we all know, Miranda was taken to hospital on Friday afternoon, her assistant quite literally gave her a heart attack. I know it leaves us in a bit of a lurch, we've been planning this issue for some time and it will be the first time that somebody other than Miranda has edited _Runway_ in nearly 30 years. We've really got to make this issue our best work. I mean, it needs to be better than normal. Now I don't know which direction Ms Sachs will take us but Miranda trusts her and that's good enough for me."

"And me. It's going to be a tough couple of weeks, there is no denying it. Ms Sachs doesn't come from a fashion background but her credentials as an editor and a journalist are well known. Both Emily and myself will be here to support her." Nigel added.

"She doesn't come from a fashion background? Don't tell me, she wears sweatpants all day, chain smokes and is always looking for the next scoop," Angie cringed.

"Actually, no. It's true that she's nothing like us but then are any of us like Miranda?"

"I guess…" the dapper man next to Nigel trailed off.

"Colin, none of us are. Ms Sachs certainly is nothing like Miranda but Miranda must have approved of her because otherwise she wouldn't be anywhere near _Runway_." Emily said.

"I though Jacqueline Follet would have been the logical replacement." Michelle said, some of the others around the table nodded.

"Do you seriously think that Miranda would allow Jacqueline Follet to keep her seat warm?" Emily rolled her eyes. "Honestly?" she said hotly.

"Miranda chose Ms Sachs herself," Nigel reassured them. "I know if you Google here you'll find more on Syria than on summer collections and more about Egyptian politics than I could pretend to understand but it doesn't mean that she can't edit. At the end of the day, its all she needs to do. We, as in Emily and I, can advise on content. Don't worry."

"As far as I know she doesn't chain smoke, and she won't wear sweatpants to the office," said Emily.

"You sound like you know both know her well," said Colin.

"We did at one point."

"Well where is she then?" asked Michelle.

"She's late," added Angie.

"Oh she's already here," said Nigel trying contain himself. "I should have said, she has a certain fondness for the dramatic."

"Is that what you would call it Nigel?" asked Andy smoothing down her skirt as she crossed the room. "Don't worry, I don't chain smoke and I won't wear sweat pants to the office. I might jog in though." She took her seat at the head of the table, Miranda's seat. "Good morning everybody. I'm Andrea Sachs."

* * *

 _A/N: Well now: what's next? I hate to ask, but I need some ideas for how to move this forward in terms of general plot. I have a few vague ideas but any external inspiration would be appreciated. I've changed the spelling of 'Priestley' to 'Priestly' in this chapter. At some point I'll probably edit the other chapters to suit. I hope it hasn't bored you. I quite liked writing 'dramatic' Andy! Please tell me what you think! New chapter probably coming up between now and Easter. Until the next time…_


	6. Chapter Six

**The Guest Editor - Chapter Six**

 _A/N: Hello once again. Lots of Andy in this, with a bit of Nigel and Emily. No Miranda...she will return. Hope you enjoy!_

* * *

"I'm sure I don't have to be the one to tell you, ladies and gentlemen, that what we have on the table before us are copies of _Runway_ and _Vogue._ I was reading some of them this weekend and I wasn't impressed. It bored me stiff. There was little of interest. Pretty pictures but no innovation. No risks. Nothing exciting. Just model after blank faced model wearing stuff that most people wouldn't be seen dead in - and we call **_that_** fashion?" Andy was gesticulating wildly.

Nigel and Emily had to suppress grins at the mention of "stuff".

"Now look here!" said Angie. "How can you come in here, with no experience of fashion whatsoever and criticise us?"

"Which department do you work in? Angie? It is Angie isn't it?" Andy raised an eyebrow.

"Cosmetics."

"Then tell me Angie, is your work influencing global trends or are you merely playing catch up to some nineteen-year old's Instagram account and pouting lips? Not once have I seen the Cosmetics section go viral. For a bunch of 'professionals' being outclassed by a nineteen year old on Instagram or a twenty-two year old on YouTube is a pretty poor performance. To think that it costs them little to nothing to produce something that will be seen by millions around the world every day when it costs us hundreds of thousands of dollars to try to do the same thing once a month. Does any of that make sense to anybody here?"

"Well-" Angie started to protest.

"It's as if all of you have forgotten that we now live in a digital age. Print media barely makes a profit. It's the _Runway_ website that keeps you all in a job. If I want to know what is going on in the world of fashion I can go to any number of blogs, Twitter accounts, Instagram feeds, Facebook pages… We need to up our game if we want to compete. _Runway_ is fast on the road to obsolescence. But, it's not too late. We can fix this."

"How?" asked Emily. She had been expecting a complete evisceration by Andy Sachs but not to such a great extent that it silenced the room.

"Emily, how big is the current edition looking?"

"750 pages."

"Cut it to 150, not including advertising. Nobody reads books anymore."

There was uproar from almost everybody. Everybody except Nigel. Nigel understood.

"That makes 16 pages per department and 6 pages for me."

"How do you expect us to accept this?" asked somebody. "We're less than a week to print."

"I expect your acceptance, or I'll expect your letter of resignation on my desk by close of business today." Andy paused, "There are an innumerable number of people ready and willing to work at this place. If you can't cut it, then please leave and let somebody else have a go instead. That goes," she added, "for all of you."

"150 pages of content will be our minimum. If you need extra pages for any good reason, talk to Emily who will take the ideas she thinks are suitable, to me. In the meantime, I want a single handwritten sheet of A4 to me by 1700 today detailing exactly what you will be putting in your sixteen pages and exactly how many extra pages you want."

"We'll be wanting another fifty at least," said one well-dressed man.

"Talk to Emily. If she thinks it's a good idea, she can bring it to me." Andy said. "As somebody else said, we are less than a week to print. So, I expect you have gathered all the content you need for this month's issue. I think the general theme we were going for is a celebration of 30 years of Miranda. We can put most of it in the Editorial but it might be nice if individual section editors put in their own tributes. But as we are so close to print, I expect you all to have got all the content you need for this issue. If you need to reshoot things, come to myself or Charlotte who will be able to arrange things for you. We are not breaking the bank on reshooting."

"I have an Autumn Collection that needs to be reshot. Miranda disapproved of it."

"Talk to Emily then bring it to me," Andy said curtly.

"What does Miranda think of what you are doing?" asked Angie.

"Miranda doesn't know. No doubt somebody here will take all kinds of joy in telling her exactly how I am ruining the magazine." Andy chuckled. "But, the current system cannot continue. It doesn't pay for itself and isn't financially viable. Be thankful I'm here. I'm the one ensuring that _Runway_ survives for another month."

"Is it really that bad?"

"If you are getting trounced by a teenager when you should be a market leader, then it should be obvious how bad it already is."

"Well-"

"Oh, and two more things: lunch is now officially an hour for as long as I am here and The Book is as of this moment entirely blank. You have a deadline of 1800 in order to get today's work to me to review tonight. We will reconvene in my office tomorrow at 0900 in order to go over today's work. That's all." Andy finished and strode from the room. Charlotte hurried after her.

"Nigel, how can you expect us to work like this? She's worse than Miranda! I thought that wasn't possible."

"When it comes to Andrea Sachs, when she tells you to jump, she doesn't want to be asked 'how high?' You heard her, all of you. If you can't keep up, you may as well leave because you can be easily replaced by somebody who actually wants your job. She was right in every point. We have become complacent, overpriced, repetitive, boring. There hasn't been much innovation for years and we are fast on our way to extinction. Andrea Sachs is a wakeup call." Nigel smirked at their gob-smacked faces.

"You actually support her? She's mad. Emily, please be the voice of reason here!" Michelle implored.

"I agree with Nigel. Miranda appointed her. She must have known exactly what she was going to do. Or if not known, at least guessed. If you have a problem with that, talk to Miranda." Emily said. 'Though I don't envy you,' she added silently.

"Uh-"

"Of course if you don't want to ask Miranda, then you have two options," smiled Nigel. "Do your job…"

"...or resign," Emily finished coolly. "Now, you have just under 8 hours until Ms Sachs' first deadline, I suggest you get to work."

* * *

Andy couldn't get back to the elevator bank fast enough. She was amazed that she had been able to escape the room without being stabbed with a stiletto or strangled with a Hermés scarf. Her heels beat a staccato tattoo along the corridor whilst Charlotte hurried behind her.

She finally let out a sigh of relief once the elevator doors pinged closed behind her.

"Wow! That was…" Charlotte began.

"Insane, crazy, nutty, mad?"

"I was going to say inspired."

"First rule of negotiation, overplay your hand so they will be forced to meet your terms exactly as you wanted originally. We'll go to about 350 pages I should think but it's a damn sight better than 750. It gives us extra, interesting content for the website or for the next edition and puts ad space at a premium so we can charge more for it whilst making the magazine cheaper to produce on the whole. Everybody wins in the long term."

"I guess so." Charlotte replied as they exited into the Runway lobby. "So what's next?"

"Next we meet Eleanor." Andy replied, striding through to the ante-office. "I give her a set list of tasks then you and I will be heading over to NYU and FIT to find some spare models and photographers. We won't be needing the big-shots to finish this issue," Andy said. "Ah! You must be Eleanor," her smile quickly turned to surprise, handing her pad to Charlotte she went into Miranda's office. It was full of a combination of flowers and boutique bags. Andy beat a retreat back out to her assistants.

"The flowers are from everybody who is anybody for Miranda. They didn't know which hospital she was in so they sent them direct to the office. The bags are for you." Eleanor explained.

"For me?"

"From the designers."

"I can't possibly take all this," Andy said. "Most of it probably won't fit anyway."

"It's better than the stuff I picked out for you from the Closet," said Charlotte looking through the bags. "Tom Ford, Versace, Lagerfeld, Vivienne Westwood...Dolce and Gabbana got your shoe size wrong. They sent sevens," she looked in one box. Andy had also started digging.

"Chanel got it right though," she grinned, holding up a pair of boots. "They fit nicely as well. Shame that I'm not wearing anything that goes with them at the moment. Burberry sent a nice navy trench," she held up the garment. "That will be useful," she mused.

"Anyway, we have a lot of other stuff to do. Eleanor, if you could spread the flowers out around the offices and send the best to Miranda or to her house. Then if you could sort out these lovely gifts. Anything that is not in my size can be put in the Closet or if either of you take a fancy to it, you can keep it. I'm a four in the dress and an eight and a half in the shoe. I do need a couple of nice pairs of heels and I'll be keeping those Chanel boots. A few coats and bags would also be nice. Block colours though and nothing overly dramatic. It's got to be functional. I don't want to be seen wearing a psychedelic cape around New York. Anything else in my size can be put to one side and I'll sort through it when I have a moment. Pick a bag each and leave the rest for me to sort through. Eleanor, once you've done that, can you make up a dozen copies of the current Book then remind the department heads that I want reasons why they are submitting what they are submitting for final copy. Then get me a couple of large whiteboards on wheels and a large LCD clock. Make up a sign that reads 'countdown to print', set the clock to 1900 on Friday and then hang the sign and the clock in the foyer where everybody can see it. Put the whiteboards in my office, make sure they come with some pens and erasers. If at any point you need to break for lunch, take an hour out but Charlotte should be back by then. Charlotte, have my car waiting downstairs in five minutes, grab your coat, bag and phone and meet me at the elevator in three. Eleanor is manning the desk. If you need a bathroom break or anything, take it and have the receptionist cover for you. We'll be back before lunch. That's all."

"Ms Sachs, I don't have a cell?"

"Eleanor, give Charlotte your cell. Forward on anything important to me or her." Andy strode back to Miranda's desk and grabbed her copy of the Times, bagel, bag and the Burberry trench before sweeping out towards the elevators.

* * *

Andy left the building with a flourish, Charlotte hurrying in her wake. They were greeted at the kerb by a uniformed chauffeur in a cap standing next to a brand new, black Mercedes S600 with tinted windows. The chauffeur effortlessly pulled the rear passenger door open for the two of them.

"Ma'am," he touched his cap in greeting as Andy and Charlotte slid into the leather interior. The door shut silently behind them. 'Not armoured or bulletproof then.' Andy noted to herself. Funny, the things you pick up after working for far too long in the Middle East. Even in the Green Zones of the world, it would be seen as uncommon not to have 'upgraded' your Mercedes in such a way.

The driver lowered the dividing screen. "Where to Ma'am?"

"NYU faculty of art and design or FIT. Whichever is closer," Andy smiled. "Actually, can we stop by the New York Times' office first, I just need to grab a couple of things."

"Yes, Ma'am."

"Thanks." There was a few moments of silence as the car started to move in the New York traffic. Andy tried to start conversation with the driver; "What happened to Roy?"

"He retired Ma'am. Four years ago."

"Oh...so who are you? Not to be rude or anything but we haven't been introduced."

"Steve. Steve Hastings."

"Have you driven Miranda for long?"

"About 18 months."

"I'm Andrea Sachs, and this is Charlotte. Charlotte is Miranda's new assistant and I'm filling in for Miranda whilst she recovers."

"I heard. Heart attack. Nasty."

"You can say that again." Andy said looking out of the window. The car lapsed into easy silence once again. She dug around in her bag for her NYT key pass.

"We're here Ms Sachs," announced Steve.

"If you and Charlotte wait here, I'll be a few minutes," and with that, Andy left for the office.

* * *

"Morning Bobby!" she greeted the security guard as she entered the lobby, dolled up in a few thousand dollars' worth of designer clothing.

"A fine morning it is Andy! You look a million dollars!" he said as Andy swiped through the turnstile.

"Oh? This?" She raised an eyebrow, "I'm just getting started!" She giggled as she twirled around and made for the elevator.

She didn't see Bobby reach for the phone as the elevator doors closed.

So she didn't realise that as she ascended, the newsroom were waiting to surprise her.

The doors pinged open to a smattering of applause.

"Wait! What did I do?" She smiled unsure of herself.

"Who are you and what have you done with Andy Sachs?" somebody called out.

"Well if I knew that arriving late and all dressed up would earn me a standing ovation every morning then I'd do it all the time!" she laughed.

"Andy you look great!"

"Thank you! Thank you!" she gave an extravagant curtesy. "Now don't you guys have more important things to do? Like I don't know? The news?" she checked her watch. "11 hours until final copy for the early edition, people! Get back to work!" she called.

Andy went to her desk and checked her 'in tray'. There were a few envelopes. She grabbed them and stuffed them in her bag. She gave her copy of the day's issue to her deputy, telling him to look at her annotations. Then before she could be asked why she had come back to the office when she should be editing a fashion magazine, she headed to the office of the Images Editor.

"Jeff, I need to borrow a camera."

"Andy! Look at you my dear! You look grown up."

She gave the greying fifty year old an 'aw shucks' look. "Funny, what a little thought in the morning can do to your outfit."

"And may I say you look wonderful."

"That is entirely subjective. I'm not entirely sure if it is just yet. But either way, I need a camera."

"What for?"

"To take some photos of people. I'd use my iPhone but I'd prefer something with a real lens."

"I'm sure I can give you something...how long will you be needing it for?"

"I can get it back by the end of the day."

"Why not use something from Runway?"

"Spur of the moment thing."

"Hmmm…" Jeff started rummaging at the back of his office before finally picking a bag. He unzipped it and checked the camera inside. "That will do the trick. Battery's all charged up but you'll need a new memory card."

"I can stop by a store on the way over."

"Where are you going?"

"Now that would be telling."

"It's a fashion magazine not a leak of classified information, Andy. You can tell me."

"Wait until Friday and then you can find out along with the rest of the world. I'll drop it back tonight."

"Well I hope it works out for you. I might actually have to buy _Runway_ at this rate."

"It's going to be an issue to remember," she said as she waltzed out of the door.

* * *

An elevator ride and a goodbye to Bobby later, Andy was settling comfortably in the back of the Mercedes.

"We need to stop by an electronics store."

"Yes, Ma'am."

It didn't take her long to find what she wanted 5 minutes later. Data storage was so cheap. The problem came when she went to pay for it with her credit card.

 _***CARD ERROR***_

Two words on the read-out of the chip and pin device that were a domestic nightmare.

"Do you want to pay by cash?" asked the man at the till.

"Uh…hang-on…" Andy muttered, looking through the cards in her purse before she came across the black corporate credit card Nigel had given her, PIN on a post-it still stuck to it. "This will do it," she said confidently. 'At least I'm spending the company money properly,' she thought as the transaction was processed.

"Steve, which is closer? FIT or NYU?"

"FIT."

"Ok, FIT it is then," Andy replied, glancing at her phone before dialling. "Good morning, this is Andy Sachs from _Runway_ magazine…"

* * *

Eleanor had managed to source the whiteboards and the LCD clock as asked. She had made a sign and was hanging the clock and the sign in the lobby when Emily happened upon the scene.

"What on earth is that?" she asked in horror.

"Ms Sachs wanted a countdown clock in the lobby."

"I meant, _**that** ,"_ she deadpanned, pointing at the sign.

"It's the sign for the clock."

"You want to hang a large, childish monstrosity in the lobby where any and all can gaze upon it?" she said in disbelief.

"She wanted the clock up and running before she got back. It's to countdown to the print deadline on Friday."

"Typical."

"Pardon?"

"Typical, as if we didn't have enough stress around here already. If Ms Sachs wanted it then Ms Sachs might as well bloody get it then!"

"So should I-?" Emily was uncertain.

"Yes! Yes! Carry on! But please call a professional and get the sign done properly. What is it meant to say any way?"

"Countdown to print."

"Countdown to…" Emily muttered. "I love my job," she sighed. "Well what are you waiting for then?" she raised her eyebrows. "Start the clock!"

Eleanor touched a few buttons on the back and the countdown appeared:

 **105:00:00**

The LCD screen flashed once before the digits changed:

 **104:59:59**

 **104:59:58**

 **104:59:57**

"Ok then. Back to work." Emily marched back to her office.

* * *

 _A/N: Tick, tock, goes the clock… The countdown has begun. Do tell me what you think of this so far. There are a few plot ideas I have running around in my mind. This story will probably continue through to the fashion weeks and then we shall see. All comments, positive or negative, plot ideas or funny jokes are welcome. Please leave a review and tell me what you think! Until the next time._


	7. Chapter Seven

**The Guest Editor - Chapter Seven**

 _AN: An update that has been a long time in coming. I hope it's worth it. I'm not sure if it is as consistent as some of the previous chapters, but I try my best. As always, highlighting any errors is appreciated._

* * *

 **Countdown to print: 104:23:21**

"And this is some of the best work by our first year students," the teacher at FIT beckoned them into the workshop. Andy thought she was trying just a little too hard. The woman was wearing a flowery pink monstrosity and her make-up and horn-rimmed spectacles made her look like a brightly coloured insect.

Andy and Charlotte were being given a tour of the facilities by the head of the department. If Miranda had been present, no doubt she would have brought an entire entourage. As it happened, Andy took photographs of the things she liked and Charlotte made her own notes. The rest of their entourage were students and staff curious as to the intentions surprise but illustrious guests.

"I've been thinking, we could have some sort of 'Fashion in the Works' section where we showcase draft designs and concept art. Some of this is rather good. It's fresh, new, vibrant, exciting." Andy mused aloud as Charlotte scribbled away. "I love that dress," she murmured. "Charlotte? As the expert, what do you think?"

Charlotte looked up. "Well…it wouldn't suit me, but you'd look great in it. The colour contrast would be good on you. Shame it is just a piece of concept art though."

"Uh…actually ma'am I've nearly finished assembling it," a voice piped up from the back of the crowd which parted so Andy could see the speaker.

"And you are?" asked Andy.

"Dominic Schneider," the tall blond spoke with a hint of a German accent.

"Do you mind if we take a look at it?"

"It would be an honour Ms Sachs but it's in another building on the other side of the city."

"Dominic is one of our-" the teacher began but Andy ignored her.

"How quickly can you bring it to us?"

"Uh…"

"Bring it to the office. Shall we say in two, no, two and a half hours?" Andy didn't wait for a response. "Ask Charlotte for the details."

"Right, thank you," gasped Dominic, "honestly you don't know how much this means to me."

Andy turned. "No I don't, but if it is as good as your drawing, I want to include it in this month's issue. That's all."

Dominic was left looking like a fish out of water before he was given a subtle push by a friend towards Charlotte.

* * *

 **Countdown to print: 104:03:54**

 _"Mesdames et Messieurs , nous approchons maintenant de l'aéroport John F. Kennedy. Il est 10h30. La température extérieure est de 18 Celsius, 65 degress fahrenheit. Le reste de l'équipage et moi-même vous souhaitons un voyage sûr et agréable."_

" _Ladies and gentlemen we are now on final approach into John F. Kennedy Airport. The time in New York City today is about 10:30. It is 18 degrees centigrade outside, 65 degress fahrenheit. I and the rest of the crew wish you a pleasant and safe onwards journey."_

Jacqueline Follet returned her First Class seat to the upright position and drew back the blind. She watched as the plane got ever closer to the ground. She stretched, contemplating the day to come. The undercarriage locked into place with a thump as the ailerons extended. She was knocked back into her seat as the plane encountered a little turbulence before bouncing down onto the runway.

As soon as she was able, Jacqueline unclipped her seatbelt and powered up her phone. To hell with data roaming. She called her Paris office.

"Marguerite, get me the name of the hospital Miranda Priestly is staying in and text me the details of my hotel," she rattled off in French. "Then send me the-"

"Madame, you must not use your phone until you enter the terminal. It's against regulations," a harried American stewardess hurried over. Jacqueline waved her off. "Madame!"

"Can't you see I'm busy?" she nearly screeched.

"I must insist."

"Do you know who I am?"

"No Madame, but I know the rules. Please put away your phone."

Jacqueline ended the call with a huff.

Americans. Why did every day involve a fight with an American and their culture, or lack of one?

* * *

"We were told by your office that you wanted to see some potential modelling candidates," said the woman from FIT, leading the group into another room.

"Yes that is correct," replied Andy. "What have you got for me?"

"Well, I hope you find some to your liking," she said opening the door.

"Oookaaayyy…" Andy winced as her eyes fell on two dozen, scantily clad, fit, beautiful women, in nothing but their underwear.

"Will they do?" asked the woman from FIT.

"One moment please," Andy blinked rapidly, remembering the time she had to collect stills from a lingerie shoot. "Charlotte, a word," she beckoned her assistant over.

"Yes, Ms Sachs?"

"When whoever it was called FIT, did they made clear that it was for potential modelling contracts _not_ softcore pornography?" Andy hissed the last four words.

"It's industry practice."

"Really?" Andy sighed and rolled her eyes. "So what is the common procedure here?"

"You pick the girls you like the look of, then the magazine deals with a contract. Vogue occasionally did it at NYU. The agencies do it all of the time."

"So it's like looking at cows at market…"

"I wouldn't quite put it like that."

"Well that is exactly what it is." Andy put her hands on her hips, her Louboutins beating a rapid tattoo as she stalked towards her potential new employees.

"You guys are all fashion students?"

"We are Ms Sachs," said a tall, statuesque blonde.

Andy had to take care where she was looking. She didn't want to give anybody wrong ideas.

"So you think you have some idea of what you are getting into."

"I'll tell you right now, that you don't," Charlotte cut in.

Andy turned. "And you've only had a day in the job," she smirked. "As you have obviously been told, I'm Andrea Sachs of the _New York Times_ filling in for Miranda Priestly at _Runway_. I was once told by a good friend that a million girls would kill for a job at _Runway._ Judging by the level of talent at the magazine, and the fact that they continue to produce the highest level of content, I don't think my friend was lying. I'll be honest, I'm looking for the best. If not better than the best. Primarily, I'm here looking for models that we can use on an ad hoc basis. I'm not going to promise you a small fortune but you will be paid fairly and we want to cut out the middle-man. I'm not interested in dealing with a modelling agency but I do want to deal with interesting and dynamic people. What I don't want are airheaded, glorified coat hangers. I'm not looking for the next Kate Moss or Cara Delevingne. I'm looking for people who are impressive and successful beyond looking good on the pages of a glossy magazine. Is everybody still interested?"

"Yes ma'am," came the universal response.

' _I got ma'amed again!'_ trilled a voice inside Andy's head. She smiled, going ever so slightly pink. "I'm also looking for people who also might be interested in helping to staff the _Runway_ operation over the four fashion weeks whether that be from New York or joining us in Paris, London and Milan. I'm looking to cultivate talent. Still keen?"

"Yes ma'am."

"Good. To that end, I'm going to set you all a task. I want a single A4 handwritten biography from each of you. Charlotte and I will be coming around and photographing each of you and maybe asking a few questions. Include everything important that we should know about you and why you deserve to join _Runway_. Have we got some pens and paper?"

"I think we can get some," replied the woman from FIT, surprised at the course of events. Andy Sachs was certainly something new.

"Well, do that, we should only be a few hours. You can go do whatever it is you have to do. I'm sure we will be alright, the students can look after themselves. We can meet in the lobby in 2 and a half hours. That's all," said Andy turning away.

The woman from FIT was rather shocked that she was being dismissed.

"But my students-"

"Can look after themselves," Andy's shoes rang out a staccato beat as she marched away across the room. "Guys, feel free to dress. Wear whatever is comfortable. This is not a lingerie shoot!"

"Thank you, we'll meet you in the lobby when she said," said Charlotte, "excuse me but we've got a job to do."

"Miranda was never like this," said the woman from FIT to nobody in particular.

* * *

 **Countdown to print: 103:32:34**

"I'm looking for Miranda Priestly," said the woman with carrying a huge bunch of freesias.

"Are you family member?"

"No a close colleague."

"I'm afraid that unless your name is on the approved list then we can't let you through."

"My name is Jacqueline Follet."

"Can I see some ID?"

"Of course," she produced her French driving license.

"I'm afraid I don't see your name here ma'am."

"Well then I fear there must have been some kind of mistake. I've been told that I'm temporarily stepping in for Miranda while she is ill. I need to see her."

"I'm sorry ma'am, hospital policy says that I can't let you through."

"Can you tell me how long she will be in for?"

"I'm afraid that even if I knew, I couldn't tell you."

Jacqueline wanted to scream at the nurse on the desk. It was not like this in France! She was so focussed on the desk that she didn't see the two young women come through the main doors behind her.

"What is she doing here?" said Cassidy to Caroline.

"I don't know, but it can't be good. Mom won't want to see her," she answered her twin.

"Well, let's go up before she sees us."

"Too late…" Caroline sighed.

"Girls," the Frenchwoman called, "when I heard about your mother I came as soon as I could. I suppose you've heard that I am taking over _Runway_ in her absence. I'll do her proud."

The twins let their mouths drop open almost simultaneously. The gall of that woman! Both were suppressing their smirks of amusement. Did she really think that she came across as genuinely caring?

"Madame Follet," Cassidy replied, "I'm sure Mom would appreciate your concern."

"How is she?"

"On the mend."

"Can I see her?"

"I don't think that would be a good idea. She needs to rest."

"Of course. Please give her my regards and these wonderful flowers," she said, handing over the freesias. "I will be at the office if she needs anything."

"The office?"

"Why the _Runway_ office of course. Monsieur Ravitz called me personally. I was specially requested."

Caroline hid her smirk behind her hand. "Well a wire must have got crossed somewhere," she murmured.

"We'll be sure to tell the office to expect your arrival," Cassidy said a little too loudly with a false smile.

"We'd better go up," continued Caroline.

"Yeah, it was nice to see you Madame," echoed Cassidy.

"I'll go to the office them. Call me if you need anything," the Frenchwoman stalked away.

"Oh I'll be sure to warn them of her arrival," Caroline whipped out her phone. "Doesn't she know that Mom hates freesias?"

"I'll call Nigel, you call Andy. I doubt she is aware that the French Skunk is in town," said Cassidy.

"She'll smell her before she sees her. That woman needs to sort out her perfume!"

"Mom wouldn't let the woman near the office."

"If she finds her way there, Mom will probably have the place disinfected afterwards." Caroline giggled.

"She is going to barbeque Irv for this. I do not want to be him right now."

"Me neither," her twin replied as Cassidy unceremoniously disposed the bouquet of freesias in the nearest litter bin.

* * *

Nigel Kipling was sat back in his office. Trying to arrange and rearrange a few things that Miranda would have ordinarily done. There were some viewings of collections pre-fashion week, a film premiere and a couple of private parties and charity benefits. At some of these events, _Runway_ would have to make an appearance but whether Miranda would allow Andy to go in her place or whether Andy would even want to go to these things was yet to be established. His office phone bleeped.

"It's Cassidy Priestly on line one for you Nigel," called his assistant Olivia from the ante office through the open door.

"Thanks Olivia." Nigel picked up the handset. "Cassidy, how is your mother?"

" _Recovering. Listen Nigel, we might have a problem."_

* * *

" _Uh- they are out at the moment Miss Priestly. Can I take a message?"_

"No that's OK Eleanor. I've got her cell."

" _Do you want Charlotte's number as well?"_

"Charlotte?"

" _Ms Sachs's new assistant."_

"Yeah sure. I'll take it.

* * *

Andy was currently photographing the statuesque blonde who had first talked back to her. Maria was a sophomore from California with a twin at UCLA studying geochemistry.

"Lisa doesn't think much of my work."

"Each to their own. I'll be honest, 10 years ago, I had never even heard of _Runway_ and had, I'll admit, no sense of fashion whatsoever. I came to respect it. I'm not an expert, just an admirer."

Her phone bleeped in her pocket. Pulling it out, she looked at the screen and read Caroline's name.

"I'm going to have to take this," Andy said, stepping away. "Hey Caroline. Is everything OK?"

" _Mom is fine. Don't worry."_

"Is she awake?"

" _We haven't seen her yet."_

"Oh…"

" _Yeah, we were stopped by Jacqueline Follet in the lobby. She's on her way to the office now. Cassidy has called Nigel."_

"Whoa…wait a minute. She's already here?"

" _Ravitz called her."_

"He might have mentioned to me that she was coming. Thanks for the heads up."

" _I hope she doesn't cause too much trouble. Mom wanted her nowhere near New York."_

"I know. Listen, I'm at FIT at the moment, I'll drop by the hospital at lunch time before I deal with Jacqueline. Do you want me to bring you guys anything?"

" _Decent coffee? The hospital restaurant isn't that bad but the coffee is abysmal. You sure you can deal with the French Skunk?"_

"Is her perfume still that overpowering?"

" _Yeah, don't let her anywhere near the office unless you can get it aired out afterwards."_

"I'll bear it in mind. I can deal with her. I've already dealt with Irv."

" _Dealt with? Christ you sound like Mom. What did you do to him?"_

"Well he shouldn't be bothering me again. If he knows what is good for him."

" _Who are you and what have you done with Harry Potter girl?"_ Caroline giggled.

"That girl doesn't exist anymore. She grew up." Andy said sombrely.

" _Well…"_

"Anyway, thanks for calling. I'll see you at about one o'clock with Starbucks."

" _Yeah."_

"I'll call Nigel and Emily and get Jacqueline tidied away somewhere until I can talk to her. Thanks for the heads up."

" _See you later."_

"Goodbye," Andy rang off, standing, phone in hand, in quiet contemplation. "Charlotte, get me Emily or Nigel – oh speak of the devil." Her phone bleeped again. "Nigel, I just heard."

" _Well we were expecting it."_

"Listen, get somebody to greet her in the lobby and show her up to the executive floor. She's not to go into _Runway_. I won't be back until two-thirty at the earliest. I'm seeing Miranda."

" _Send her our regards."_

"Can you send a second car out here to take Charlotte back to the office when we are done here?"

" _Yes boss."_

"I would have taken an Uber but my card is playing up."

" _I can get somebody to look into it. Use the company card."_

"I'd like access to my own money too you know."

" _Give it to Charlotte to give to me and I'll see if I can get it fixed._ "

"You would? That would be very helpful. Are you sure you are ok to deal with Jacqueline?"

" _Well,"_ Nigel mused, _"Emily hates her as much as Miranda. They will get on fabulously!"_

"Or I will return to find a warzone."

" _That's true. Everything OK at FIT?"_

"Well, the students seem alright. Not much of a fan of the staff. There is the potential for some interesting content for the magazine. I'm think of a 'Fashion in the Works' section for this edition. How is the office?"

" _Busy, hectic, stressed. Nothing out of the ordinary."_

"Well I'll be back by two-thirty."

" _I look forward to it."_

"Follet is a headache I neither need nor want. Just keep her from meddling. That's _all_."

* * *

 **Countdown to print: 102:41:57**

" _Emily,"_ Nigel called down the line, _"I need you to go and meet somebody in the lobby."_

"Get your assistant to do it," Emily said caustically.

" _Jacqueline Follet is going to appear in any moment. Six wants her kept out of the office."_

"Forget Little Miss Perfect, I don't want her anywhere near the office! We'd have to get the place deep cleaned. Her perfume stinks!"

" _Well we'd all be obliged if you got your gas mask and diverted her up to the executive floor."_

"When is _she_ meant to be back?"

" _Two thirty."_

"So I've got to entertain Jacqueline for nearly two hours. I may as well tell her to come back later."

" _Just keep her out of the office."_

"Well the cleaning isn't on me if she somehow finds her way to it."

" _None of us want her here."_

"Is that in the office, in the city or in the country?"

" _I'm sure Miranda would be quite content if she stayed in that dingy hole that we are forced to call_ Runway France _."_

"I'll deal with it. I'll try not to throw her out of a window, but I can't promise. You and _Her Royal Highness_ owe me for this one Nigel."

"Ms Charlton, reception called, Jacqueline Follet is downstairs," a clacker poked her head around the door.

"Thank you, I'll be down shortly." _'Time to do battle.'_ Emily smoothed down her skirt, checked her appearance and headed for the elevator bank.

* * *

"Emily!" 'How did she crawl back to _Runway France_ after the James Holt fiasco?' Emily wondered. She shuddered as Jacqueline gave what the Frenchwoman must have considered to be a friendly hug. The exchanged the standard cheek kisses before Emily broke the bad news.

"Jacqueline, unfortunately the editor won't be back until after lunch. I can either take you up to wait in a board room or I suggest you check in to your hotel."

"There must have been some kind of mistake, Miranda is in hospital and I was asked to fill in."

"I'm afraid you must be mistaken," Emily simpered.

"Who is the new editor?"

"Google her." Emily said unhelpfully.

"Emily, why do I think you are trying to waste my time?"

"I'm not, I assure you. But as you will see on the website, we've already announced things. Now, shall I call you a cab back to your hotel or do you want to head up?"

"I'll follow you. I want to speak to Irving."

"I'm afraid Mr Ravitz is unavailable."

"Really?" Jacqueline raised a sceptical eyebrow.

"We are, as I'm sure you are aware, very busy people."

"Indeed. I must call the Paris office when we get up there."

The elevator ride passed in silence, it sped silently up on past the _Runway_ offices and opened out on a nearly deserted executive level.

"I've got to get back to work, if you need anything, use the desk phone to get it."

"When will somebody be available to meet me?"

"Not until after lunch. Sorry. Busy day," Emily said unsympathetically before marching out.

Jacqueline was seething. She opened her phone.

"Marguerite, get me Irving Ravitz's personal line and find out who is editing _Runway_. Then see that my bags are sent to the Marriott and have somebody send me some edible food, not this American trash. D'accord?"

" _Oui madame."_

"C'est tout!"

* * *

 _A/N: Pardon my French, but I used Google translate for it! I hope you enjoyed. Please tell me what you thought. All feedback welcome – praise, criticism, plot ideas, jokes, even typo corrections. Until the next time…_


End file.
